The Third War
by angelasdawn47
Summary: When the Allies summit is attacked by the new Axis Powers the peaceful nation Seychelles and the superpower America are taken captive, to the horror of their brothers France, Canada and England. Seya must navigate an unhinged Spain, a cunning Russia, and America's amnesia to get them home. Meanwhile Allies prepare a counterattack as they recover, but will it be enough to save them?
1. Prologue

**_Author's Note:_**

**_In war, as in life, everyone has a reason. Why we do what we do, and who we do it for: these are the questions that determine everything._**

_Pairings: The majority of the pairings can be taken however you want to take them. The important relationships will be revealed slowly, amidst the chaos. Expect to see some popular pairings from the fandom, such as PoLiet, SuFin, UsUk, VashxLili, PruHun, AusHun, as well as a few more unexpected ones, and you should see most of your favorite countries. You'll find something you love, I promise. Don't be surprised to see the older Kirkland boys (Scotland, Wales and Ireland) thrown in either. They've let England represent Great Britain long enough, and it's time they started showing **why** England has, for everyone's sake, let them stay home for the last 100+ meetings._

_Warnings: I intend to tug at your heartstrings. If you can handle that, and the side of the world that isn't all daisies and roses, you're good. This is T rated, for you younger readers. Some of the themes get a little strong, because I don't cut corners. Don't read if you can't handle a little blood, a little pain, a little swearing, or a little heart-pulling. But fear not! There are fluffy and comical parts too. America makes that a definite. Oh, and there is a slight history alteration for Seychelles than can pretty much be taken as a headcanon._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. I'm simply borrowing._

_Oh, and the characters who seem to be only there as "bad guys"? They'll have their moments, so don't throw stuff at me for casting them as antagonists. Like I said - the reasons we do things are key, and everyone always, _**_always_**_, has a reason._

_Yes it's set 26 years from now. But chill out - it's not crazily futuristic, just a bit different from the political situations of today._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Prologue**

**Braginski Mansion, North of Moscow**

**2039**

The soft scratch of a striking match, followed the snapping crackle of a flame being born: these were the only sounds to disturb the stillness of the room. If not for the pains that had been taken to keep sound out of the mansion neither would have been audible over the relentless howl of the wind, whipping snow and sleet against the walls and roof. Snow nearly filled the view out of even the tallest windows now, leading the eye to believe that the world outside had been completely obscured by frigid white. This wasn't true yet, but it would be soon. General Winter was drawing closer on his eternal march, and he would return for his brutal season of residence shortly.

The Spaniard raised the match to light his waiting cigarette before smothering the flame between his fingertips. He took a long drag from the cigarette before blowing out a column of smoke that lingered in the chilly air.

"That's a nasty little habit you have picked up there, Anton'yo," the Russian commented with his usual cheer, violet eyes trained thoughtfully on his new ally. He would have sounded kind or sincere to a stranger, but his sisters could see the calculation in his gaze and the lack of concern in his smile. Russia didn't truly care about anyone unless they belonged to him, and even then his care was detrimental.

"Well, it's not like I have anyone to be setting an example for now, no?" Spain responded acidicly, lip curled back in a sneer. Everyone knew better than to say anything to that, even the albino who lounged in his chair across the table from him. The light from the candles cast orange shadows across his bone-white hair. Gilbert was worried about his old friend, but he knew there was little he could do to help him right now. One black-gloved hand reached into his coat pocket to scratch Gilbird on his head. A faint chirp greeted him wearily. The chick didn't like the cold, and he seemed to have every intention of staying in Prussia's coat until they were back in a warmer climate.

"So, we are all here," Belarus said after the brief silence, drawing the wandering attentions of the group. "And it is fair to assume this is our complete company?" Her chilly eyes rolled across the faces around her, looking for any contestant. A few countries nodded. "Then there is not much which needs to be done now. We all know what will happen." More nods from the others.

"Ought to be a piece of cake. They'll never know what hit them," Prussia said confidently, leaning back in the chair so that it hovered on two legs, squeaking in protest. He drove his fist into his open hand to emphasize the point.

"If nothing goes wrong, yes. I must confess that I was a bit surprised to see you back in power, Gilbert-san," the normally-silent Japan remarked, his quiet voice still carrying in the high-roofed, domed room. He tried not to let the squeaking of the chair bother him but it did grate on his sensitive nerves.

Prussia smirked. "Happy to keep everyone on their toes. I got all of my old land back, and a few chunks of Austria too, kesesese." It had given him immense satisfaction to watch the aristocrat's outrage when the one he'd thought would never be a threat again snatched some of his best land. The move had almost been more for spite than for anything else, just to prove to himself, and everyone else, that Prussia was definitely back in business.

"It is a shame that your brother could not join us," Ukraine said delicately.

"Ah, West. Poor guy's realized that he keeps picking the losing side, so he's going to sit this one out. No worries; he'll come around once the dust clears. He knows who his family is," the country said with certainty.

"And what of Elizaveta?" Spain asked in an odd moment of attentiveness. He had mostly ignored the proceedings thus far, with just the odd comment or quip. The others were happy to give him space, both to fume and to grieve. His volatile new mood-swings kept the others well beyond arm's length.

Prussia's smile faded. "Hopefully Hungary will come around as well." Though he had plenty of reasons to doubt it.

"Then she would do well to stay out of this war," Belarus said drily. Prussia shot her a glare, which she was clearly unaffected by. It seemed that nothing got to the cold girl, aside from Russia. The balance of power seemed to have shifted between the two siblings in recent years. He didn't seem very afraid of her at all anymore, but whether he had mastered his fear or simply gotten better at hiding it Prussia did not know. He only knew that if the fear _had _gone from Russia, it had gone into her.

Much had changed since the last World War.

Ukraine shifted in her seat. "Hungary's smart. She'll stay out of it unless Austria gets involved . . ." She stopped talking when she saw the look on Prussia's face. He let the chair fall back to all fours with a thud, his hand tightening into a fist on the chair's arm. Russia noted with interest how upset the mention of Austria and Hungary together made the nation he'd once controlled. Prussia had changed a bit in recent times, after his complete absorption by Germany and then his phoenix-like rebirth. He was more focused now and had a definite edge that had not been present before. Determination was a hard glint in his eye and a blatant challenge to any who might cross him. The gun never left his side anymore.

Ivan wondered what Prussia would do if the chance to crush Austria presented itself.

Belarus filled in the silence once again. "The other women will not get involved. Monaco, Vietnam and Taiwan will all stay out of it, leaving them to their squabbling as they have for the last half-century. Lili has no army, and Vash will keep her away the fight. They will just hole up in the Alps somewhere and count their coins. And Belgium has no interest in western matters, so we should be mostly fighting pathetic male nations," she finished with a superior air.

"Belgium may join us, though, if we can convince her brother. You're friends with him, Japan ana. Have you spoken with him?" Thailand inquired.

The dark-haired boy shook his head. "They seem to be taking the same path as Germany-kun." Though I would have been glad for Ludwig's presence, he thought to himself. His own grief was a dark hole inside of him, growing a little deeper and wider every day, and it was a small wonder that he hadn't fallen into it yet. He would never show his pain, of course, and certainly not in front of this group. But he missed the few he could have turned to for comfort.

He'd been disappointed when China didn't show up at his door after he heard the news. In fact, he hadn't responded to any of his letters. It made him sad that his brother had decided to hate him again, though he did know he deserved it. He had done terrible things to China in the second World War, and he was a fool to think those crimes would simply be forgiven.

But still. Hope lingers.

"That's a shame," Thailand said before turning back to Belarus, brow furrowed slightly behind his glasses. "You've forgotten someone ana." India gave him a look that said that _he_ certainly wouldn't have pointed that out to the scary female.

"I think she's just deciding whether to count Feliks as a woman or not," Prussia sniggered, and even Russia fought a smile for a moment. Poland certainly had his eccentricities.

Spain didn't react.

Belarus rolled her cold blue eyes. "_Nia_; I assumed we all know what will happen to Seychelles." The laughter died away.

"Da," Russia agreed, standing. Belarus bowed her head respectfully, sinking back in to her chair. "We all know the agreement. The 'lost paradise' is for Spain." He looked across at the fractured nation, who had been dancing at the edge of his sanity for months. What Antonio had lost had nearly destroyed him, but he was sane enough to have entered into this alliance and given his terms.

Everyone at his table had a price, and so long as each was paid there would be little in the world that could stop them. A third world war was about to begin with a bang that would leave the new Allies reeling and divided, and with any luck . . .

Shattered.


	2. Chapter 1: The Gala

**The Gala, Sandringham House, Norfolk, Great Britain (Christmas home of the British royal family)**

The Gala had been England's idea, naturally. I couldn't have told you much more about all this fuss before arriving at the front gate other than that he was to blame. Not that I thought it was a terrible idea, but from what I'd glimpsed so far of the grounds leading _up_ to the castle that would host this event, he had overdone it as usual. Which would mean I would feel terribly out of place.

I glanced at the the dashboard, where the time glowed in glaring green, and saw that we were 40 - no, 50 minutes late. I kneaded my left temple with my fingertips, looking at the driver. It had been kind of France to drive me to the Gala, though I'd never known him not to offer. He'd made it a thing of ritual to drive me to all the world meetings and parties we had both attended. I didn't like driving, and he knew that. We had offered to pick up Matthew as well, but he had declined, preferring to drive himself in peace. I didn't blame him - Matty liked quiet, and Francis and I always managed to find something to talk about.

Our tardiness wasn't because he was late picking me up. In fact he was right on time. It was his decision on the way over to slam on the brakes in front of a take-out restaurant and pry my protesting self from the car to join him in ordering Chinese. It seemed that he had only remembered in transit that England was the one in charge of the catering, and he had "become afraid for my_ life_, ma cherie, so this is really for the better." Then he mumbled something around a mouthful of noodles about being 'fashionably late' but I still wished he had thought that before. _I_ had. I'd eaten a light dinner an hour before he picked me up, planning to stick entirely to water at the party. Surely water would be safe from Arthur's disastrous cooking skills . . . right? Regardless, I'd eaten a few spring rolls and one of his pieces of sautéed pork to be on the safe side. I did regret the loss of time though. There should be faces in the crowd tonight that I was really looking forward to seeing, especially after recent events.

My stewing over the our being late stopped immediately upon seeing the castle. It was truly beautiful, a towering, sprawling confection made of red brick. I was relieved that it had not been Buckingham Palace, but this monument was still a bit intimidating even in its beauty. It looked like somewhere seen only in a post card and never in reality.

"I can feel your worry all the way over here, ma petite," Francis drawled, casting a look my way as he parked the car, ignoring the valets who would have loved to do it for him. While he was not as peculiar about his car as many American men, he still liked to know that _he_ had personally placed it out of harm's way. "Don't be so nervous, dear sister. Treat it like any other party I've made you suffer through over the years: just grit your teeth and bear it." He grinned at me, showing his teeth clenched tightly together comically, and I couldn't help but grin back, remembering the days when I'd dug my heels into the ground when he's tried to get me to go to a party. In those days he'd simply picked me up and placed me in the car, and within an hour I'd forgiven him and even allowed him to dance with me. Those childhood days were long gone, but my dislike of these fancy events remained.

Having France for a brother helped, though. He made even the dullest of parties lively and fun, as long as I stayed by him. He'd always preferred it when I stayed by him.

Sighing in acquiescence I reached in the back seat to get my hand bag. Purses were still pretty uncharted territory for me. They was much smaller than my backpack or my messenger bag, and therefore, in my mind, less useful. "It's about fashion, darling, not sense," Francis had said before handing me the small blue thing in the store to compliment my outfit.

Once I'd managed to fish it out of the back seat and check that the straps on my heels were fastened, Francis had opened my door and offered me his hand. I took it gratefully, stepping cautiously out of the safety of his car and making sure that I could balance on these heels before letting goof him. At two inches they were not nearly as bad as other heels I'd had to wear in the past, probably because Francis had been shopping with me as an advisor this time and NOT as a dresser.

I had to admit that I'd liked how I looked in the mirror. The heels added just enough height so that I would not feel too short among the taller nations while at the same time complimenting the darker shade of the dress. There was no low neck or open back to the dress, and it was a deep blue that reminded me of my ocean. When Francis had seen it in the store he abandoned all the others that he'd thrown into the pile and said, with absolute certainty, "That is the one." I had learned to trust his judgment for the most part, and this time we could definitely agree.

He offered me his arm and we walked to the towering doors, smiling as the doorman bid us good evening.

But the moment we stepped inside and I saw the grandeur and the splendor of the ballroom I felt distressingly out of place. I was sure I was underdressed. For goodness-sake, Arthur's royals spent their winter holidays here! Why couldn't he have skipped the ball idea and simply gone for a conference? Sure, the dress was alright but kings and queens had danced here, and I wasn't nearly up to their standards-

"You look stunning, ma petite," Francis whispered, halting the freight-train of my thoughts. I looked up, meeting his clear blue eyes that seemed to hold only honesty and affection. "Every_ fille_ in this room will be green with envy."

"Merci, Francis," I whispered back, smiling. He looked pretty debonair himself in his dark gray suit and black tie. "Black tie does not necessarily mean black suit," he'd told me when I saw what he was wearing. I wasn't going to say anything - France would always do as he liked, regardless of what anyone had to say. I was just one of the few who had accepted that about him.

I did tell him that I liked his tie clip though. It was silver with an engraving of Pierre, who was home right now with three romantic dramas and a water bowl filled with sherry. Francis and the bird were remarkably similar in their taste. They also both like to play with my hair.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I studied the guests. It was a much better turnout than I'd expected. Liechtenstein and Switzerland stood over by the drinks table, where the frugal country was frowning at the price tag still attached to a wine bottle. I caught Lili's eye and she smiled, rolling her eyes in her brother's direction. I grinned back, giving her a tacit compliment on her choice of dress. She looked lovely in the pale pink gown, but of course she was always lovely. She beamed back at me.

France had noticed them as well, but he was more concerned about the drinks. "They'd better have a decent selection," Francis muttered. "I'll need at least three glasses to handle this evening, and I did not bring a replacement if England's managed to bungle the wine."

I elbowed him gently. "Behave, brother." I knew that wasn't likely to happen, though.

I continued my survey of the ballroom. I could see Greece, a cat draped over either of his shoulders, chatting with Finland and Sweden. The taller Nordic had his arm protectively around his partner's shoulders, but I knew that it wasn't an insult to Greece – he was simply that way. I was surprised to not see Japan with them, and I didn't notice his cat with Greece's feline entourage.

On the patio I could just make out my old friend Poland with Lithuania. They were talking to someone that I could not see, but by the shadow I knew it had to be Denmark. No one else had hair like that, and his booming laugh confirmed my hypothesis.

Austria was making conversation with a very bored-looking South Korea, who was probably missing his video games. Hungary wasn't far from them, looking apprehensively at a finger sandwich she'd picked up. 'Don't do it, Liz,' I thought for her sake. I was glad to see her here. We were good friends, and as she'd mastered all manner of weaponry ages ago she hadn't minded teaching me how to fence. I was still nowhere near her level, but at least I could handle one weapon among the thousands. My rapier was hanging on my wall at home above the fireplace, and I prayed that I would never have to use it.

My eyes lit up when I looked to the far right corner of the room. Latvia and Estonia had made it! That was a surprise, as they'd been in one of the areas that had been having the most difficulty reconnecting to the outside world. Estonia was another good friend of mine and Matthew's. He'd explained computers to me long before my brothers understood them, and I appreciated his sense of humor.

New Zealand was talking to Canada, while the fluffy sheep and Kumajiro blinked at each other. I was glad to see my brother not looking too stressed out. He had about as much affection for these parties as I did. He noticed us come in and we both waved, making him smile. The other nations had gotten better about remembering him in recent years, but he was still relieved that his family would always see him in a crowd.

New Zealand was looking well. The endearing curl in his hair was untamed by hair products, and his eyes shined like little pieces of amber. It had been ages since I'd seen the boy, and the only thing I'd heard about him in recent years was speculation on whether his relationship with his best friend Australia was romantic or not. Whatever the case, as long as Zee was happy I wished him only the best.

"Ah, France, Seychelles," a British voice called, signaling an approaching host. "So glad to see you've made it." Arthur moved to clasp hands with my brother before kissing my hand. I could see that the gesture made him uncomfortable (maybe because Francis was glaring), so I knew he wasn't doing it for any other reason than chivalry and careful breeding. I wondered if he'd tried to greet Hungary in the same manner, though I doubted it since there were no frying pan-shaped marks on his face.

"Rather a fine turn out, England. They must not have heard about your cooking," France teased him, but there was no malice in it for once. He was trying to lighten some of the tension in the air. Because it was definitely there, obvious to everyone even as they tried to make small talk and ignore it. It hovered like a dark cloud over the party, poisoning our attempts to seem cheerful.

"Hello, Arthur," I greeted him politely. We'd had our differences, but the past couple decades had been good for our relationship. I knew Arthur was still somewhat embarrassed by our history, particularly whatever had made him return me to my brother, so we had agreed to set it aside. I still don't know what France said or did to make England give me back to him when I was young, but I know that I was never happier than the day he took me away from the Kirkland house. It hadn't taken long for me to forgive Arthur, though, and I didn't hold the past against him. He was an empire – it was in his nature.

"And where are the rest of the Kirkland brood, Angleterre? I haven't seen any red-heads in this lot yet." And that was Francis for you - no tact at all unless he chose to employ it. I doubted he'd ever tried to filter his words with the Brit.

England smothered a glare. "Allistor and Seamus are in the cellar, trying to find, I believe they said, 'sometin' stronger than yer pansy whiskey.' I wish them luck." I could see a trace of apprehension in his face, though, and I wondered what state his cellar would be in when Scotty and Ireland were done with it. The more they drank the more destructive they got.

"And Wales?" I asked hopefully.

England craned his neck, searching. "I saw him with Canada last, so I'm not sure where Dylan has disappeared to. He probably found some corner to read in and escape the noise."

"You'd think he would be used to it. I doubt the Kirkland household was a quiet place to grow up," I commented. I'd had to live in it, and was pretty sure it could never be classified as 'quiet', no matter the century.

Arthur grimaced. "We all have our little ways of dealing with things. Speaking of, Francis, the drinks are over there. Try to leave a bottle or two for the other guests if you can. I need to make sure Australia's koala isn't after my curtains again . . . I'll see you later, Sesel."

England still addressed me by a piece of my country's proper French title, though my brothers called me Seya. I'd gotten used to it, and when other nations asked why I didn't find a separate name for myself I would tell them that I wasn't interested in having one. The names I had grown up with were more a part of me than any new name could be, and I was happy to keep my nicknames. I watched as the Brit strode off, looking nervously after his drapes.

Francis snorted. "Well, let us hope the selection is not _too_ pathetic. I'll try to find something passable for us, ma cherie," he said before starting off for the drinks table. I decided to stay behind, trusting him to investigate the liquor situation. I studied the remodeled ceiling, filled with frescoes and murals similar to those in the Louvre. Scenes from parties that happened hundreds of years ago were there too, with ladies in poufy hoop-skirts and men in ruffles. The sight made me want to laugh. No man would be caught dead in one of those collars these days!

The chandelier was beautiful too, at least ten feet in diameter. I could scarcely imagine how long it had taken to make. I got lost in watching the crystals reflect light off of their facets, and was only drawn back to the present by someone clearing their throat.

"You look stunning, Seychelles. I'm very glad to see you here."

I smiled happily, turning. "Hello, Dylan. Arthur said you were hiding from all the noise."

Wales shrugged, his tailored black suit moving fluidly with him. "I decided that talking with you would be worth braving the racket." Dylan was the only country I'd grown close to in my time with England. He was the most mild mannered of the Kirkland boys, and incredibly easy to get along with. He put everyone at ease and reminded me a bit of Matthew in his ability to pacify his brothers when their legendary tempers reared up. I'd been a bit scared of the raucous Scotland and Ireland duo back then, but Wales had never frightened me. He had looked out for me, and he was the only one of the four that I wouldn't have minded having for a brother.

"I haven't gotten to talk with you since the last time we had lunch. What was that marvelous fish you cooked up?" he asked with sincere interest.

"It was rainbow trout, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. Francis gets so picky about what kind of fish he's willing to eat, so I'm never quite sure what the verdict will be." Something about fish oil being good for your heart but bad for your skin . . . I think someone just told him that to make him paranoid, though. It's surprisingly easy to do, when it comes to his appearance.

"You two are still pretty close, huh? That doesn't surprise me. All you did back then was pine for him and stay close to Canada. I always felt like it was a triumph if I could make you smile. The frog is a fool if he doubts your cooking abilities. _I've_ never been disappointed, and you learned from him after all. Thank goodness Arthur never rubbed off on you."

We shared a shudder at the idea. In the time I'd stayed with the Kirkland boys I had done almost all of my own cooking, even as young as I was. Wales had done the rest, as it had quickly become clear that I would _not_ eat haggis. No way.

"There are a few faces missing from this crowd, ouí?" Francis remarked, returning from his liquor foraging and handing me a glass while keeping a very full one for himself. "Sherry," he said, and I knew I could trust him to find something decent. I was glad of the drink to help with the heavy atmosphere in the room, which was starting to get to me. I imagined that Francis had already polished off at least one other glass before joining us. As England said, we all have our ways of coping.

"Indeed there are," Wales agreed warily. "I have not seen China or Spain."

"I wonder what's keeping Antonio," I mused aloud, worrying. The Spaniard and I were friends, though I could think of one reason he wouldn't want to deal with company. Two, actually. But I didn't want to let my thoughts go there tonight, not yet.

"It is possible that they are just late. China returned the invitation with a message that he was alright, but would probably be unable to make it." Wales took a sip of his own drink and then wrinkled his nose, setting it on a passing waiter's tray. I guess he didn't have France's nose for wine.

"Well, it's not as if we were particularly worried about his _safety_, n'est pas?" France said drily, lifting an eyebrow. Dylan looked like he wanted to object for propriety's sake but nodded instead.

I bit my lip, wondering if I should ask about the other absence I'd noticed. "Dylan, I haven't seen Japan . . ."

"Neither have I." His face was carefully blank, and I knew that he was worried about his friend. Japan, it seemed, had not even sent a letter.

"And where is-" Francis started, only to be cut off by the door flying open with a bang. All the heads turned to witness the superpower's entrance.

"S'UP DUDES? IT'S GOOD TO SEE YA!"

"The hero," Wales said, lips pressed into a thin line.

America teetered into the ballroom, hardly able to see over the mountain of DVDs and videogames in his arms. He set them down with a grunt and dusted himself off. He hadn't made a huge effort - dress shirt and rumpled slacks seemed to be Alfred's idea of black tie dress. He looked around, eyes bright behind his glasses and bustling with energy. Then he asked, loud as ever, "Hey, where's Japan? I brought him tons of scary movies. I even found the latest Friday the 13th movie, and it's not even in theaters yet!"

No one answered him. They glanced away, looking at the floor. No one was sure how to break the news to America.

Slowly realization dawned on Alfred's face, and his cheerfulness faded. "Oh." He looked pretty melancholy for a moment before deliberately smiling again and heading for Arthur. "Hey Britain what's for dinner? I'm _starving_."

"Big surprise," Francis mumbled, and I gave him a scolding look. "Drink some more wine, brother," I told him. "You'll be happier."

"No amount of wine can erase my pity for the boy," he said, tipping back his glass. "He doesn't know what he's ingesting."

"I doubt it's any worse than what's in American hot dogs," I countered.

"Touché," he answered with a smirk before guiding us over for refills on the drinks.

There was a band stationed at the head of the ballroom, your standard small orchestra set-up. They were playing something by Strauss right now, and rather well too, but it was clear that no one felt like dancing. Even Francis and I, who would normally be at the center of any dance floor showing everyone how it's done, weren't feeling the music. For all that this had the name and look of a party, it had the feel of a funeral.

Another half hour passed quietly before it seemed that England was done waiting for more guests. He cleared his throat and called, "Alright, everyone. I would like to say thank you all again for coming, and to say just how glad I am that you managed to make it here tonight. We all know that things have been rather . . . _unstable_ for a while."

He didn't need to elaborate. We'd all followed, as best we could, what had been going on in the world. It had begun with the blackouts and the strange rumors. Then followed conflicting reports of events and network failures. The internet had crashed, throwing civilization into disarray. It had been offline for about three weeks, and once the web was back up things were . . . different. Certain nations couldn't be reached. Satellites were nonresponsive; no one could be sure of what news they received outside of their own borders. Our people were afraid to bring up the outside world for fear of the empty space where the answers used to be. Fear slunk around like an alley cat, hiding in the corners of our minds, growing in our hearts.

And then . . .

"Italy's -" England stopped, his voice breaking.

Everyone flinched. I saw Poland grip Lithuania's arm, and the Baltic country tried to comfort him even as his own tears gathered. Lili leaned into Switzerland, letting him hold on to her. Canada looked at his hands, and Australia looked at his feet. I gripped Francis's hand tightly, feeling my eyes burn. He squeezed back, nearly crushing my fingers.

England plowed on. "The death of the Vargas brothers is a great loss, not only to those who knew them best but to all the world. They were unique and irreplaceable, and we will miss them dearly. Let us raise our glasses, please, and have a minute of silence for Romano and Veneziano."

I could barely see through the salt water clouding my eyes, but I could make out a sea of raised glasses and added mine. Memories of my friends swam through my mind, tightening my throat. Romano had gotten so tongue-tied when we'd been introduced, and even later he still got so embarrassed sometimes that he'd turned scarlet. Veneziano had made me spaghetti and smiled like the world was a magical place.

The grief in the room was palpable, and it united us for that short time, erasing boundaries and grudges until we were simply nations, mourning the loss of two incredible Italian boys who should still be here.

It took England two tries to clear his throat, and I suspected we'd all been silent much longer than a minute. "Now. We must put aside our grief for a time and discuss just what we've been hearing, particularly in regard to our missing friends. Invitations were sent out to every recognized country. Whether they reached them or not, I cannot be sure. Some have managed to send responses even though they declined the invitation, but many have not. There are also those that said they would attend but are not present. Iceland said that he would attend, but has not shown up. Norway sent that he would not attend at all." The other Nordics looked concerned at this, though they said nothing. I saw Denmark rub the back of his neck, looking nervous. Finland attempted to send him a reassuring smile, but it didn't seem to help much.

Canada spoke up first. "I managed to talk to Turkey last week. The blackouts hit them there, but he's alright. Cuba is too, but he didn't want to come."

America nodded. "And Egypt was able to reach me on the network for a few minutes before he was cut off. Sounded like they have it rough right now, but they're in one piece. He said he thinks Cameroon is alright but that he won't answer his calls. And Mexico's a mess, but he says he's had it worse."

"Has anyone seen Thailand or Taiwan?" Australia asked, biting his lip. "Wy's fine, we told her to stay home, but I haven't been able to reach those two for months."

Everyone shook their heads.

"And Hong Kong responded that he may come, but he never confirmed and clearly never made it," Wales added.

"Macau's missing too," New Zealand mumbled. I only head him because he was next to me, and I patted his arm. He looked at me miserably.

"Sealand is at home," Sweden rumbled curtly, and I saw the nervous way Finny shifted from foot to foot. Sweden wrapped his arms around him, calming him down.

There were a few more minutes of quiet musing before Ireland sighed and said, "Germany would 'na come. He wanted tae be left alone, an' we can't really blame the boyo for tha'."

"At least he's alive," Denmark said, but it was clear he wasn't too happy that Germany hadn't come. He believed that you should do your duty, regardless of emotional pain. Finland shook his head, but only Sweden and I saw him. He understood full well why Germany had opted out.

So did I. How would it feel to lose the one you cared about most? My heart constricted just thinking about it, and I held on tighter to France, my eyes seeking out Matthew. I love my family more than anything else in the world, and I never want to know what life would be like without them.

Switzerland, after some obvious deliberation, said: "Many bank accounts from the far side of the world have been closed and emptied without explanation. News of large purchases of military supplies have reached my government, and it is disturbing that they seem to have all been purchased through the black market. We have no way of tracking them." He clammed up then, but Lili held his hand, showing that she approved of him sharing that information with us.

"Weapons," England said unhappily. "But for what - defense or offense?"

"That is the million franc question," my older brother said. "Has anyone received any threats?"

Uncomfortable silence. It seemed that any who had didn't feel very comfortable saying so.

"Come on," America pressed. "It's not like we're going to tell them. But we need to know who's acting suspiciously."

Hungary seemed like she was about to open her mouth but changed her mind. I decided to talk to her later, though I knew she wouldn't tell me unless she wanted to. Maybe I could at least offer her a friend's comfort, if she was worried about someone. Hungary never leaned on anyone with her troubles. I wish she would, at least now and then.

The guests seemed to be breaking up, drifting back off to mingle rather than dwell. I hadn't expected us to learn much from this meeting anyway. I felt Francis lead me away, over to where Matthew had found a seat and was petting Kumajiro's fluffy head. I leaned over to give him a scratch behind the ear and he tilted into my hand, enjoying it.

"Has anyone asked America why he was late?" Matthew asked, blinking up at us with his violet eyes

France gave a derisive snort. "You think there's an actual reason? He probably stopped for French fries."

Matty shrugged, looking away at the ballroom. "I don't know; he's gotten better lately. So I was just wondering." He really did seem curious.

"You could ask him, Matty," I suggested, leaning against the wall. These shoes were beginning to bother me, and I was looking forward to taking them off when I got back in the car. I was looking forward to going _home_ - home to my blue walls and my fish pond and my bed.

"Are you alright, Seya?" Francis asked, his blue eyes worried.

I nodded. "I'm just getting tired. But I do want to talk to Hungary."

"I believe she and Austria are about to leave; they said goodbye to Arthur," Canada told me.

I looked up to see the couple retrieving their coats from the coat rack beside the door. Elizabeta's brown hair looked like liquid caramel under the light, and I wondered absently how she'd gotten it to behave so well for the night. I began to walk toward them, my heels clacking on the marble floor.

That was when the noise began. A distant but steadily building roar - a jet overhead? Heads turned, looked up and around. I expected the noise to fade away as it passed, but instead it grew louder. It finally rose to a screech, and I looked at Francis in confusion and when he met my eyes and a terrible awareness lit in his face.

He opened his mouth to say something to me -

The hit came like nothing I'd ever felt before. Like the earth and the sky colliding. I was knocked from my feet, thrown through the air like a doll. I caught a glimpse of the ceiling but it didn't look like a ceiling anymore, there was something very wrong with it. Pieces of faraway light remained instead of the frescos, and the chandelier must have fallen but I hadn't heard the crash-

I couldn't hear very much at all, just a cacophany of muted screaming. I knew when I hit the ground again, because the floor was made of marble and the walls would have been softer. Strange pain spread from the back of my head, like the steady rush of the tide. Was it the sea I was hearing? It was just as familiar, just as closely intertwined with my whole life.

The last thing I heard was the one I knew best calling my name. Then the pain clouded everything and I was lost.

* * *

**_Translations:_**

_French_

_ma cherie - my dear_

_ma petite - dear, sweetheart, little one_

_fille - girl_

_Merci - thank you_

_ouí - yes_

_n'est pas? - isn't that so?_

_touché - expression equivalent to "you got me", "you're right" or "good point"_


	3. Chapter 2: Between Earth and Sky

**Location Unknown**

The sky had tried to hit the earth, and that wasn't very smart, because the earth was at least as strong as the sky and had hit him back. Or had it hit me? Maybe I'd been in the way. It hurt. The sky had opened, and I'd seen stars, shining so far away, and they were screaming at the sky for what he'd done. The sound of them screaming reverberated like echoes, deafening and muted and then it would cut off only to start again quickly. It was different now, just as pained, but it should have been continuous, not these little blips of harsh sound. The sky was crying because of what he'd done . . .

Dreams and thought were beginning to collide. I felt answers dancing just out of reach, but then _pain_ came back and I decided the answers were _not_ worth the pain and I retreated again into the dream of sky and earth at war. Why would the sky do such a thing? It loved the earth; they were a pair.

Perhaps the earth had said the wrong thing. After all, it was fearless, and the sky may have been hurt. Fearlessness and carelessness sometimes went hand in hand, much to the distress of those they loved-

Wait, was that about my family? Or about the sky? I wasn't the sky. I was just a passing bystander caught in their war, so it certainly wasn't about me.

Their war . . .

War. That world meant something to the world of reality. It had suddenly become important again.

The halting sound was back, and I didn't think it was the stars anymore. They can only stay out so long, and they'd screamed themselves hoarse before falling away.

There was a name for the sound. I'd known it once, and maybe if I thought really hard I'd be able to bring it back, but thinking brought the pain and I didn't like that at all so how much was the answer really worth when the sound wasn't going anywhere? There were other sounds too, and I called one an avalanche though I didn't think anything was falling anymore now that the sky had decided to leave the earth alone. Another I decided to call a wolf, but my brain told me at once that it wasn't. Something about it made me think wolf, perhaps some memory or association of white fur and sharp teeth, so I was sticking to it. My mind wouldn't even tell me about the other noise without bringing the pain back, so what did it know?

Then there was more noise, screaming again but it wasn't the stars this time. The stars were never that _loud_. I figured that perhaps it was the sun, distressed and outraged when he saw what the sky had done while he wasn't there. Yes, that could be it. Unless it was the earth, finally feeling his wounds and howling in pain. Perhaps both. There might be two voices screaming. I couldn't be sure. I could certainly sympathize, though. I was dancing with the pain myself right now, and it liked to lead. I might be screaming too. But the dreams helped, and the pain was starting to be civil, so long as I ignored the other noise and didn't step on his toes.

Hmm, this sound was new. Bickering I would recognize anywhere, no matter its form. Was the sky being reprimanded, maybe by the sun? Or was it the earth, angry at his betrayal?

Keeping the players straight, or trying to answer all of these questions, was becoming impossible. The answers I may have used, right or not, spun out of my reach like a handful of marbles scattered onto the floor, rolling away to hide under couches and chairs. I let them go. The pain was returning, and it really did hurt and then I figured that I may as well snatch the other answer if I was already in pain-

Beeping. That was the name of the sound. I felt as if I'd fought a war for the answer, and it wasn't very satisfying. It could mean too many things. Time to get up, time to go to work, time to eat, time was almost up, time was up. Time to begin, time to end, time to go.

Time was up. I think it was that one. I didn't like that one, but maybe it would mean peace. Peace from the pain and the screaming sun and the violent sky and the terrible blooming _pain-_

The beeping changed. I couldn't tell you how, but it changed, and something told me it wouldn't be around much longer. Once it changed like this it would stop soon after, and I wasn't sure how I knew that - fingers hitting the blaring alarm clock or opening the microwave or turning off the smoke detector or the machine saying that the heart wasn't going to beat any longer-

Huh. That last one made the most sense of all.

A voice raised a cry of protest and I couldn't have told you which of the astral beings it was this time but then everything inside me lit with static and I slammed back into reality _hard._ I still couldn't see but I could _feel_ now and I was burning like lava but the air was bitterly cold and I could feel my pulse thudding and galloping on ahead like a horse free of its bridle and I wondered when the horse would be out of reach, out of sight-

Another slam of reality, lightning snapping through my veins. The air was full of sounds beside the sensations, a voice still screaming in pain and another yelling at me - me? - to fight, but I wasn't fighting anything I just couldn't stop the racing horse so I didn't know what he expected _me_ to do about anything, and that was when I realized there were indeed two voices screaming in pain but one of them was louder and now it had stopped and the other was still going on but neither of them were mine so there was still nothing I could do about that either-

This final hit from the fist of reality - liquid awareness shooting straight through me and rattling my bones and streaking after the escaping horse like ropes - knocked me right out of both fact and fiction and I landed somewhere else, away from all the yelling and galloping and quarreling earth and sky, and there may have been beeping still but I couldn't hear it so I didn't care anymore. I couldn't hear the crying, the screaming, the earth or the sky, and I decided that I liked it better here, and as soon as I decided that I fell into an endless sea of nothing and I let it drown me, because drowning didn't hurt at all.


	4. Chapter 3: Ambrosia

**Location Unknown**

Everything was calmer this time. That's what convinced me to leave the safe fold of the dreams. Staying there had seemed like a brilliant idea until the rest of the sounds started coming back, and it wasn't pandemonium and unreality like before but ordered sounds and just a very steady beeping. There was no earth or sky to worry about, at least as far as I could tell, and if there were at least I wasn't in the middle of their squabbling.

I checked on my body before I dared to open my eyes. I flexed my toes, starting easy. They were alright. Then I flexed my feet. The only pain I felt in them was what I would expect from the shoes I last remember wearing. They were bare now.

I flexed my calf muscles next. They were sore, but obviously not the source of the horrible pain I remembered from before. My hips- well, they hurt too, but my left side was the worst. I would guess that that was the side I fell on, and my aching left arm supported that theory. I took a cautious breath. Air entered my lungs easily enough. My heart was clearly beating. I curled my fingers, and was relieved to find that I could move everything below the neck. I hesitated before I got to my head, though. I remembered a sharp crack against the ballroom floor, and if my head had been what hit it, I wasn't sure I wanted to know how bad it was.

There was already pain coming from it, but it wasn't like before, when the pain had rushed through me like a tidal wave. Now was a dull, pounding ache, similar to the one in my side. But surely it wasn't that wasn't all - there should be much more damage than that. Holding my breath I shifted my head very gently against the pillow.

It hurt, certainly; but not like I'd expected it to. And I knew how bad the hit had been; how could I have healed so quickly?

I decided that opening my eyes would be the first step in finding out. I flinched as they dilated but the light wasn't glaring. In fact it was pretty gentle, as lights go, and my eyes adjusted without too much pain. There was a ceiling, made of some kind of coarse white stone. No one had tried to make this room pretty. Perhaps I was too used to France's flair for decoration, but to be in a room so clearly unembellished bordered on disturbing.

I hesitantly lifted my head a few inches off the pillow, propping myself on the unhurt arm. There was someone sitting in the chair beside my bed, which looked for all the world like a hospital bed. Perhaps I _was_ in a hospital. It would excuse the lack of decoration. Sure enough, beside me was the machine I could blame all that beeping on. I shuddered to think how close the machine had come to flat lining.

I took a closer look at the person in the chair. They had their head in their hands and an elbow propped on each knee. I could almost feel the grief emanating from him, as if all the world was wrong. I saw familiar brown hair and for a second my heart leaped forward against my ribs. I thought it was one of my Italian friends, back from the dead. Then I saw the matador jacket draped over the back of the chair and felt my eyes widen. I sat up, my head spinning a bit before clearing. I blinked a few times to be sure of what I was seeing. It _was_ Antonio. He was okay!

"Toni?" I called softly.

He stiffened in shock. Slowly, disbelief written across his face, the Spaniard looked up me. Shock and wonder began to replace the disbelief, and then sheer joy that I had seen the like of only a handful of times in my life. "Seychelles," he said shakily, voice cracking. Had he been crying? "You're okay."

"Yeah," I said, smiling at him. "I guess I have a hard head." I waited for him to laugh or smile but he just stared at me. He was _shaking_. "Toni, what is it?" I asked, alarmed. Was he hurt, as I'd feared? Was that why he was in this hospital too?

He blinked a few times, clearing his throat. "I'm just so glad you're alright, _florecita. _I thought you were gone, _como_ . . ." His voice trailed off, and I knew he was thinking of Romano. Sadness washed over him again, and I reached out the hand from my other arm to touch his knee. "Hey. I'm okay, see? Good as new." A bit bruised, but otherwise fine.

"I thought you were in a coma, Seychelles. You were alive, but you wouldn't wake up." His voice broke again, and I was sure now that he'd been crying. "I - I kept begging you to wake up, and you never did."

Pieces were coming back to me from the strange dreams I'd had while in that awful pain, and I tried to make sense of them. "I ran away from the beeping and screaming. It hurt there. But then it was better . . . and I came back."

His eyes welled up with tears, and he reached out, as if he wanted to touch me, but he stopped himself. "You can hug me, Antonio," I said quietly, wishing I could get rid of his pain. "I don't mind. Just be careful of my side."

His eyes widened in surprise, and I began to feel a little lost. Sure, we hadn't been all that close recently, but I couldn't think of any reason to reject him. I don't mind contact, and why would I deny him comfort when he was suffering so much?

He hesitated, then circled his arms around me suddenly, as if he thought I might take back the offer. Maybe he was used to Romano. Romano might have changed his mind.

Spain was as gentle with me as he would be with a glass sculpture that would fracture if he so much as shook it. I moved my hand soothingly over the top of his head, fingers drifting through his hair as he trembled. His distress occupied me more than the reasons I might have been dead. I was a caretaker, the one my brothers and friends turned to for comfort. All else would just have to wait.

It took him a few minutes, but finally he got ahold of himself and pulled away, though he clearly missed the contact. I looked over the room again now that I was sitting up and found the same white walls, a hanging curtain to my right that served as a room divider, and a single covered window. There was a crate half-obscured by the curtain, and I read a familiar name written in gold paint across its side. AMBROSIA.

I went still with shock. If that whole box was indeed filled with the only medicine that could revive a fallen nation, someone must have expected a hell of a fight. Multiple fights. The golden fluid, able to be drunk or injected into the bloodstream, took lots of time and lots of money to make. The smallest of amounts were only on hand during times of war, only a vial or two! I made sure my voice was even before turning back to Spain. He'd seen where my eyes had gone. "I guess I have the ambrosia to thank for my miraculous recovery?"

He seemed to be trying to decide what to say before simply nodding.

I was about to ask him where it had come from when the screaming I remembered from before started up again, an agonized howl that set my heart pounding in surprise and fear. Spain stood up quickly and walked toward the sound, taking the crate with him as he went. "Stay here, Seychelles, please," he took the time to say before rushing behind the barrier.

I heard low voices, trying to sooth whoever was screaming, and I heard swearing and the clink of glass - the vials of ambrosia? - and then a sudden commotion and someone was thrown back into the sliding curtain barrier, pushing it back some. My eyes widened to see two people desperately trying to restrain a thrashing country on another hospital bed.

"Japan?" I whispered in shock, but no one heard me over the racket. A third country, syringe in hand and filled to the top with golden liquid, avoided the kicking feet of the normally serene nation to reach his arm. I could see that the IV had skidded across the room, obviously no longer attached. "Hold him _still ana_," barked the dark-haired boy with the syringe, and I saw Antonio and another - his back was turned to me, and his head was bent, but he was wearing blue - use as much force as they could without hurting Japan to keep him steady, and Thailand gave him the shot. Within moments the thrashing Asian nation relaxed and soon his hands fell to his sides and he was unconscious. I stared at them, shaken by what I'd seen. Antonio looked up and noticed my expression before hurrying back to me, stopping a couple feet away when I leaned back on the bed, unsure and a bit frightened. He raised his hands, palms up, in a universal gesture of peaceful intent. "It's alright, _cariño_. He'll be alright, I promise." He spoke in a low, pacifying voice I'd heard lion tamers use. "He's one of us."

I saw Thailand shoot him a look when he said that before leaving the room. The other stranger had already left, though I hadn't seen him go.

'He's one of us. He'll be alright. He's one of us.' Those words ricocheted around my head, fueling my confusion and the beginning of panic. "Antonio," I stressed, trying not to hyperventilate. "What's going on? Why is Japan hurt? Why am_ I_ hurt?"

"Seychelles, it's alright, I promise," he desperately tried to calm me. "_Tranquilo_, preciosa, _please. _You do not need to be afraid."

I would _not _be calm. I wanted _answers_. Something was missing, and I felt it like a lack of air or sunlight. Something you take for granted, and it was missing and I had to find out what it was so I could get it _back_-

Movement at the end of the hall caught my eye. I wouldn't have seen it if the curtains hadn't been knocked back before. Two girls I knew from my spotty attendance of world meetings when I was younger were pushing a gurney away, an IV trailing along with them attached to the patient. I only saw the boy for a moment but I would know him anywhere because he looked so much like Canada and he was the loudest one in any room.

"America," I whispered, a sound of distress torn from my throat at the blood I'd seen in his sandy hair. America was _hurt_ and how was that even _possible-_

I felt the color drain out of my face. We were all hurt.

I hadn't been at the Gala alone.

Francis. _Matty._ That's what was missing. **_My family._** I looked back at Spain, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. "My brothers, Toni. _Where are my brothers?!_"

He looked distressed at my questions and that only made me more scared. I couldn't breathe. Don't let them be hurt, oh please, oh _God_-

"What 'ave you done to get the little devochka so frightened, Anton'yo?" a voice that rumbled like a distant avalanche inquired in a kind, interested tone. I looked up to see Russia walking over to us, a gentle smile on his face. I remembered what Francis had said about his 'dark secret' but I still found it hard to believe, and wondered if Ivan had been putting him on. Ivan had always just seemed nice to me, and perhaps the others misunderstood him. Maybe he would tell me where they were.

I opened my mouth to ask when another voice came in, smooth as molasses, and my fear shot up tenfold. "You mean beside show her his ugly mug? Nein, that's scary enough, even for us older nations."

Spain shot his friend a glare with a clear message to 'shut UP'. I couldn't move, one fear momentarily eclipsed by another.

Prussia scared me. He'd always scared me. More than Scotland used to, more than England when he was in one of his moods. More than anyone I'd ever met. The fear had lessened since he lost his power, but had come back stronger than ever when he'd gotten his land back and began taking bites out of Austria. He had no morals, and as far as I could tell, nothing to stop him when he decided that he wanted something. He'd been civil enough to me when Francis had him and Antonio over, but I couldn't help the fear. I believed that it was something like instinct, like a deer knowing to be careful of a wolf, and no matter what I tried, the fear remained. And now he was here, amongst all this pain, and I couldn't see a scratch on him. Or Ivan. Or Antonio.

I thought about what I'd seen. Japan, injured, but okay because he was 'one of them'.

America, hurt too. He and I were the only ones here who'd been at the Gala, at least that I'd seen. Something awful had happened at England's party, and now I was here, and I didn't know where my brothers were.

I looked at Antonio, who'd been so distressed at the thought of my death. He was still worried about me, but he clearly didn't want to answer my questions. "Just let it go, at least for now, _querida_," he begged. "You'll be so much happier if you do."

Like hell. "Where am I?" I asked as calmly as I could, though he looked at me like I'd slapped him. I looked at the others instead of dealing with how guilty his look made me feel. Something was off with Antonio right now, and I'd worry about it after I figured things out. "Russia? Could you please tell me where I am?"

He smiled, tilting his head to the side just a bit. He seemed surprised that I'd chosen to ask him instead of Prussia, and he appeared to find it interesting. "This is the east wing of my home, angel. It has been converted into a medical treatment zone. I must say that I am very glad to see you awake, little von. You had us very worried. Antonio over there nearly pulled out his brunette locks."

"It would be an improvement," Prussia muttered, and Spain gave him another murderous look, but this time Gilbert's smirk faded. He sees it too, I thought. He knows something's wrong with Spain.

"Anyvay," Russia continued, looking a bit amused at the squabbling, "I am glad that the world 'as not lost another sunflower. Your kind are rather precious, da?"

"Um, thank you." I think. "I'm feeling much better. Where are my brothers?"

Russia raised an eyebrow. "I thought you only 'ad one. The one zat loves the flowers and likes to tug on England's tail."

I shook my head, though I almost smiled at the description of my brother. "No; Canada. He is my brother too. Are they alright?"

Russia looked at me, the same kind smile and thoughtful expression on his face, but he didn't answer right away. Maybe he was stewing over what I'd said about Canada. Frustrated, I looked at Spain again. Dieu, he looked awful. The circles beneath his eyes made him look as if he'd been punched and I wondered how long it had been since he got any sleep.

I was about to try again when the sound of footsteps made us turn toward the hallway. "Hey Prussia! Do me a favor and get me a towel, would you? Hero-boy is _still _bleeding and now it is all over my nice new clothes. Look at this!" The speaker finally came in to view, bringing his royal aura with him along with his disgust.

India was covered in blood. It dripped from his hands, his shirt, and his pants. His shoes left crimson tracks, marring the white stone floor. The metallic smell filled the room and my head spun, making me grab the bed railing for support. All of that … was from Alfred? I felt the fear spin out and the hyperventilating return. Oh God, _Alfred._

"_Estupido_," Antonio snarled at him, reaching out to steady me. I was too lightheaded to swat his hands away.

India blinked. "Oh hey, the princess is awake! I thought she was a goner. How many vials did you give her? Two?" His dark eyebrows shot up. "_Three?_"

Three vials? I'd only need that much if I was dead. Clinically _dead. _That was practically buying a second life, striking a bargain with the grim reaper.

Spain was livid. "I just may _kill you_. Come in here looking like a slasher movie stand-in while she is _enfermada?! _Vano, pequeno _tonto_!" Antonio looked like he was about to spit fire along with his insults. India realized his life was in danger and held up his blood-soaked hands. "Hey, man, I didn't know. My mistake." He quickly backed out of the room.

"America. _America_." He was dead. Oh God he was dead what had they done to him oh God-

Prussia rolled his eyes. "The superhero-wannabe isn't dead, Seychelles, geez. Thailand knows what he's doing, even if India's a fool. We need him alive, after all. For now anyway." Prussia smiled unpleasantly. I thought I was going to faint.

Spain looked like he was about to have a fit. "Gilbert, get the FUCK OUT OF THIS ROOM!"

Prussia looked more than a little surprised at the violence in his tone before shrugging and walking away. "Whatever. The awesome me and my awesome pet are going to find somewhere warm in this icebox. You had better have a heater in here somewhere, Ivan. Later, losers!"

I could tell Antonio wanted to go after him but he stayed with me instead. "Seychelles?" Green eyes looked into mine and I knew he was trying to calm me down again, he was muttering some kind of calming spell but dammit that wasn't going to work this time because that was _America_ and he was _bleeding_-

What if Matty was hurt too? Or Francis? The thought sent the monitor beside me into the same frenzy from before and I heard what sounded like a sigh and the clink of glass against glass and then a strange, shooting numbness through my whole body. I fell forward, my arms refusing to hold me up any longer, and then there were gentle hands catching me, and then the scattered dreams and nonreality once again.

* * *

_So, for any of you still not sure, _yes_. Something is very wrong with Spain._

_Reviews are love, mes cheres amis._

_**Spanish translations**_

_florecita - little flower_

_como - like_

_cariño - darling, dearest_

_tranquilo_

_preciosa_

_querida - darling, beloved_

_estupido - moron_

_enfermada - sick, ill_

_vano - arrogant, useless_

_pequeño tonto - little fool_

_**German translations**_

_Nein - no_

_**Russian translations**_

_devotchka - girl_

**_French translations_**

_Dieu - God_


	5. Chapter 4: Memories

_Note: I am breaking the rules here a bit. I already mentioned in Chapter One that Seychelles' history is different in this story from what actually happened. Just bear that in mind I am intentionally twisting a little bit of history here. Because to me, they're siblings, and she grew up with Matthew and Francis, and Iggy just got in the way briefly._

* * *

**Braginski Mansion, North of Moscow**

There was no pain to fight on my way back from the dreams this time, and that made it easier. The beeping was even again, and there was just the hum of voices to hear. I was tired, so tired that opening my eyes didn't seem worth the trouble. So I let them stay closed, but I listened to the odd conversation taking place around me.

"Really, Anton'yo, you were not going to do it." That had to be Russia. There was still nothing threatening about his voice, though he sounded a little exasperated.

"Si, because if we give her much more of the stuff it may _kill_ her. And that is certainly not what I want, comprendes?" Spain sounded irritated. In fact, he sounded like Romano. The thought made my heart ache.

"So, you intend to keep her then?"

"Of course I do," he snapped. "That was our agreement, _recuerdas_?"

"Yeah, but she didn't look too happy to be here. You sure you want to take on another headache, Toni?" a bored Germanic voice asked. "Probably more trouble than it's worth."

Antonio called him something in Spanish that I did not know the translation of. I knew it wasn't pretty, though. "A bargain is a bargain, Gilbert. I already lost the twins." His voice became hoarse, then brutal like bare feet over sharp glass. "I will _not_ lose her too. If you want me in this war then _you will not touch her_. Do I make that _clear_, Prussia?"

"We will keep with our bargain, Anton'yo. All of us," Russia said, and I could imagine a pointed look at Prussia.

"Whatever, man. She may not thank you though, Toni. Everyone that little ray of sunshine seems to care oh _so_ much about is in the firing line, and I wonder how well she'll fare when they start to fall."

I suddenly felt very cold. I didn't want to listen to this anymore - dream, reality, whatever it was. I wanted to dream of sweet, blushing Matthew and flirtatious, protective Francis. With them around me I had always felt safe and loved and warm, no matter where we were. And when we were home Matty would make me pancakes with the most delicious maple syrup, and Francis always made sure that there were fresh flowers on the table, every day. Roses, usually. He grew extra red and blue roses in his garden because he knew they were my favorites. He never seemed to mind all the pricks he got from the thorns.

Francis had always tried to make me happy, no matter how much it hurt him. Even when I'd wanted my independence and he had been so sad and resistant, he still let me go. He drank three bottles of champagne the night we signed the papers together, but he still tried so hard to smile for me. I threw my arms around him, hugging him really close, then took him by the hand and lead him toward the door. "Come on, Francis, I want to show you something." He looked confused, but he clung very tightly onto my hand as I led him outside onto the steps. I pointed down the street he lived on to a small, square-looking blue house with French windows that he couldn't remember seeing before. It was on the other side of the street, just three houses down, and directly across from Canada's white house. He could see a row of blue and red roses in the front garden and a small pond filled with fish - possibly koi - in the back yard.

Realization dawned quietly and he looked at me, eyes wide and bright with tears. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "You can come over anytime you want; just try to remember to knock."

He nodded slowly, two tears leaking out to run down his face. He swallowed and said, voice a bit hoarse, "Merci beaucoup, ma cherie. And you are always welcome at this house, any time, day or night. You're the best thing that ever happened to it. And you don't have to knock."

I laughed, a peal of sound against the receding gloom of our separation. "I think I will just the same, Francis. One never knows what to expect in this house. But don't worry - I'll be over more often than you think." I deliberated a moment before whispering in his ear, knowing that my citizens wouldn't like me saying so but I intended to tell the truth anyway: "This will always be home to me, Francis, because you are here."

I could see he was about to start blubbering for sure, and I knew how sensitive he was about his pride so I walked off then. I liked walking, when the weather was this nice, and it wasn't very far at all.

And as he watched me make my way to my new door I think he realized that, too.

Over the years I've regretted that unending invitation more than a few times, but I've never taken it back. The first few years were great. My people, though they struggled a bit with their high cost of living, were happy with their independence, and so was I. And I had at least one garden party a week with my brothers, as well as several breakfasts at Matthew's house (which usually drew Francis along too, the aroma of freshly made pancakes calling him away from whatever he was in the middle of), and plenty more late dinners with France, who was always shocked when we didn't want more wine.

In fact, we hung out so often that I began to worry I was cutting into his social life, or at the very least putting his reputation in danger. When I mentioned it to him, he gave me the most skeptical look I've ever received in my life, just short of a nonverbal scoff. "Oh _please_, ma petite. My reputation is made of stone. I believe you could fairly call it immortal. And I have complete control of how I spend my social life - I just chose to let most of it revolve around the two of you." He gave me a sardonic smile and sipped his coffee. I saw the slight grimace on his face, as if I'd said something unpleasant, and I worried that I'd insulted him. It was difficult to tell what would insult Francis: he seemed at once to have the hide of a rhino and the soft underbelly of a jellyfish.

"I hope I haven't offended you, brother - I just didn't want to take you away from what makes you happy."

His features softened, that sage but loving look returning. "I do what I please, Seya," he said, but his voice was much gentler this time. "And you have always made me happy."

I didn't quite know what to say back to that except to smile and say that being with him made me happy too. He seemed content with that, though he showed up exactly on time for lunch that day and breakfast the next morning, and I am sure he was trying to make a point. However I did see him with a girl the following day, and I felt better. Order as I knew it had been restored to the world.

Unlike Francis, I never felt irritated or threatened to see him with someone else. Francis _without_ girls is what scared me. For the blissful few months after my independence I had begun to hope that he had calmed down about all of that. But judging by his reaction the few times he found me talking to other male nations, I seriously doubt it.

Francis liked to take full advantage of his permanent invitation, flitting over between meetings or whenever the grey ghost of boredom struck, but at least he was getting better about knocking. Three times out of five, he remembered. The other two, well, he was reminded quickly.

One time that he forgot was some nine months after my independence, and he sailed in sometime around two with his usual rose and a basket of croissants. No bottle of wine this time, which was good. I'd already had to extend my cellar twice because it was littered with partially-emptied bottles of vintage wine, and I knew that he would have a heart attack if I ever poured them in with one another. His cheerful greeting was cut short by the sight of Ireland, looking as unimpressed with the world as ever, sitting across from me at my dining room table. I saw his eyes travel between my guest and me and the plates of cooked salmon in front of us and the few scattered papers on the table.

'Here we go,' I thought, bracing myself.

"He dinnae know how to _knock_?" Seamus asked, an eyebrow raised. I knew immediately that Francis would take it as an insult, because anything said in the country's dry tone of voice sounded somewhat insulting. And anything less than absolute courtesy would get my brother's temper up at this point.

"We're working on it," I muttered to Ireland before standing and turning to my brother. "It's good to see you, Francis, but I did phone to say I'd be busy for lunch. I could still come over for a late dinner if you like, but this will probably keep me until six." _Please don't be difficult, _I prayed.

Luck wasn't smiling on me that day. "Why is he here?" France demanded bluntly, without even a trace of civility.

I felt my irritation spark, and I carefully smothered it. One French temper was enough for this room. Thank goodness Ireland just raised the other eyebrow, interested but not terribly offended by France's rudeness. He just settled back to watch the show. "We are discussing a new trade agreement," I told him.

"In your _dining room_?" he said though his teeth, fingers tightening on the stem of the rose. He didn't flinch when his fingers caught the thorns.

"It seemed a rather relaxed matter, and we agreed it would be pointless to go to any great lengths on its behalf. Now, Francis, I really appreciate you stopping by. Would you like to have dinner?" I really didn't want to turn this into a power play. If he pressed the issue I could be forced to make him leave, to prove to both him and Ireland that he no longer ruled me.

His glare continued to bore into the redhead but he managed to drop his voice. "I don't like him being here."

I sighed. "I understand that, brother, but there's no helping it. Now please-" I waited several seconds until he finally met my eye, "let me finish my meeting."

He stood there, jaw tight, deliberating. The thought of making an ass of himself didn't stop him from doing as he wished, but my asking him might. Finally, after several tense seconds his shoulders loosened up just a tiny bit, and I knew I was in the clear. "Dinner is at 6:05, ma petite. I'll pick you another rose." He tossed the one in his hand into the wastebasket beside the door and I saw that he had broken its stem clean off. He set the basket of pastries down beside it and left. As I closed the door a breath of relief travelled through me.

I turned back to Seamus, face chagrined and apologetic. "Brothers," I said with helpless shrug.

For one of the first times I could recall seeing, Ireland smiled. "No need tae be tellin' me, darlin'. I've six. Now, about the fish . . ."

It seemed that my trade partner was used to brushing off tense situations. After that the meeting went well and we ended with the signing off of an actual trade agreement that I felt would be much better for my people, and we parted on good terms. My relief lasted only until I looked at the clock and saw that it was 6:03. I knew Francis had set his clock by mine, so I would receive no mercy if I was late. I contemplated changing my dress for dinner as I often did but decided against it. I knew Francis would be looking for any reason to assume that something inappropriate had happened so that he could go off and kill Ireland, so I figured that I should go looking as I was. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd watched Ireland leave my house, checking him for any change in his appearance. I grabbed the bag of colorful hard candies I'd made earlier that morning, slipped on my jacket and walked to France's house.

He opened the door as soon as my foot cleared the last step, his expression sour. I saw him catalog my appearance and knew that he didn't see anything that could justify his tearing after the Kirkland boy. "That face looks like you just swallowed a lemon, brother," I said tentatively, holding up the bag of brightly-colored sweets as a peace offering. "May I come in?"

He sighed, surrendering and stepping back to let me in. "Of course, Seya. I hope you have room for lamb and green beans with quiche and lemon meringue pie. There's some '27 shardonae on the table." He sounded tired, but not the joyful tiredness he usually enjoyed after cooking.

"That sounds perfect," I said honestly and set the sweets on the counter. One lonely rose, white this time, sat in the vase at the center of the table, and he'd allowed it to droop a bit to one side. I knew that Francis associated white roses with sadness and that he had probably picked that one unconsciously, guided by his mood. I fought the urge to comfort him, telling myself that I'd done nothing wrong, but lost the fight.

I walked up behind him where he stood at the kitchen counter staring at the green beans as if they were mocking him. I wrapped my arms around him, circling just below his stomach. He just stood there for a few moments, but when I didn't move away he covered my arms with his, placing his hands over my own. We stood like that for a while, each taking what we needed from the other but keeping the privacy of our expressions. Eventually we drifted apart to have a quiet dinner, but the rift between us was mended.

I keep those memories close to me, for the times when I can't just run to them and ease the loneliness, and when I needed them to remind myself to be strong. Your strength comes from your roots, as Hungary likes to say, but they were more than just my roots. They were something that even a pacifist like me would fight for.

Fight hard.

* * *

_A nice fluffy chapter, no? The next one will take us back to the Allies!_

_**Spanish**_

_Comprendes? - understand?_

_Recuerdas? - remember?_

_**French**_

_merci beaucoup - thank you_


	6. Chapter 5: Closing Ranks

_Back to the Allies, yay! Expect pairings galore._

* * *

**Allies Recovery Site, Location Unknown**

England coughed yet again, cursing his lungs for the fifth time in the hour. He proceeded to curse the bloody arseholes who'd attacked him and his friends and destroyed an important building to the royal family. Then he cursed his country's air force for not knocking the jet out of the sky _before_ it tried to blow them up. Oh, they'd still gotten it, but the pilot had escaped via parachute even though his general swore up and down that one of his soldiers had shot him. He cursed the idiots sent to find the pilot for losing him, venturing into Old English territory after using up modern insults. That pilot could have given them a clue as to who they were fighting, rather than just that they had bombs that _hurt_. All he knew was that he had short dark hair. That's it – nothing more, nothing less. **Useless.** His cursing was interrupted by another round of painful coughing, and when it ended he threw in a curse on the world and the clergy and the Catholic and Protestant Gods, addressing them separately because his country was so damned insistent that they were different. If they were, he thought sourly, they should have different names.

"Ah, for the love of hell, you imbecíle, put a sock in it," France called from his cot where the paramedics had insisted again and again and again that he _stay put, and keep the foot __**elevated**_. "Have those idiots found them yet?" he asked, fighting the morphine in his blood to stay awake. He had no intention of sleeping until Seychelles was found, and a pox on any medical professional who advised him otherwise.

"You don't think they would have told me if they had?" England growled back at him. "I told them not to come back without them." He coughed again, and settled for a groan this time instead of the swearing that would just bring the next cough around all the sooner. Yes, the coughs were annoying and brutal, but he had gotten off easier than most of the others.

Lithuania was on a respirator, and Latvia looked like a mummy with all those bandages wrapped around his head where he'd fractured his skull. Estonia was wheezing from the damage to his lungs and still spitting up blood, and Feliks . . . the shards hadn't been easy to get out of his hip and leg. He'd been nearest to the chandelier when it landed, and the crystal pieces had embedded themselves deep inside his flesh. It had taken a lot of ambrosia from England's private stash and more than a little morphine afterward to get him to stay still enough for the doctors to do their work. Oh, and numerous promises not to mess with his beautiful face. And more than three dozen assurances that Liet would be okay.

Scotland was in bad shape too, but the worst damage in the Scot's opinion was the loss of almost an inch of his hair above his right ear when the doctors needed to operate. Allistor had ranted at the top of his lungs once he saw his reflection, accent so thick that no one knew what the hell he was saying except for the occasional 'kill' and 'skin' and 'maim the fukin bastards!' that could be distinguished from the jargon. Finally they'd sent him outside to get some air, and sent Denmark with him, who only had a slight limp and some deep scrapes to deal with.

"It had to be his bloody ear, didn't it?" Wales said tiredly, sitting down in the chair next to England's. "Now he'll have another excuse not to listen to us." He kept the ice pack pressed to his head. The doctors had said the swelling probably wouldn't go down much more but he'd waved them away, saying the ice helped numb him to the noise. A bandage was wrapped around his bare chest, and he winced whenever he changed positions. "All that noise over his damned _hair._"

Arthur looked at him sympathetically. "How bad, bro?"

Wales grimaced before trying to smile. "I've had worse. This isn't even close to what Seamus did when I poured his gin down the sink. But Scotty gave me a helluva headache with all his bitching. Glad you sent him outside or I might've finished him off for the bomber, free of charge." It was clear that he was trying to make light of the situation, but anger sparked in his green eyes at the thought of whoever had dared to attack his family. Family, even as messed up as theirs is, is everything to the Kirklands. "How's Roderich?"

"They haven't told me yet," Arthur sighed before coughing again and throwing in a half-hearted curse at his injured lungs.

"You know you didn't make _that_" - Dylan gestured to his brother's chest - "any better when you insisted on dragging the rest of them out yourself. The place has been made of brick for 400 years, and it wasn't going to turn into sawdust because of one little bomb."

"How was I supposed to know it wouldn't come down? Most of the _ceiling_ did." He was only being defensive because he knew what he'd done was stupid, but now he thought he might understand what America had called 'hero stupidity'. His friends might have been in danger, and he was more than ready to say sod off to the ME's and go back into the smoking ruins of his favorite castle again and again until he was sure everyone was out. That hadn't stopped him from passing out in the ambulance the second the all-clear was given, though.

And those idiots still hadn't found Seychelles and Alfred. Worry ate at him, like an itch he couldn't scratch. If they'd still been in the castle his men would have found them by now. Perhaps America had taken a knock to the head and wandered off, confused? He couldn't have gotten very far. Nevertheless, the worry festered.

South Korea was apparently feeling well enough to ask the doctors if they had any videogames, even lame ones, to which they responded with pained looks. Then he began grumbling about how he wanted his Aniki. The food table had fallen on him, but since it wasn't very heavy and the only food on it was a bunch of little sandwiches he had come out of it alright.

Not everyone else had.

England looked to his left to see Australia sitting next to New Zealand's cot, having his hand crushed in his best friend's grip and still murmuring "you'll be alright, almost there, look at how good you're doing, mate" as the doctor carefully extracted pieces of glass from the boy's back. Australia himself had had to get someone to put his shoulder back in its socket, but the real pain eating at him was guilt. Everyone knew he would have thrown himself in front of the glass if he'd known what would happen. Seeing New Zealand in pain was a hundred times worse than being in pain himself. "You got this, Zee. Just hold on to me, mate," he said, blinking back tears. He'd failed him, he knew in his stubborn heart, despite what anyone said.

The smaller boy gripped his hand with all his strength, focusing only on the familiar calluses of Australia's palm. So long as Oz was here, he could handle it.

Ireland was passed out cold on the cot to England's right and he knew that someone must have found him some alcohol, because he hadn't needed morphine to be put out. Though the doctors wouldn't approve, Arthur thought it was probably for the best. Alcohol was the only surefire way to distract Seamus, and he certainly needed distracting. Trying to walk on that ankle would hurt in ways the Brit didn't even want to imagine. He'd seen the X-rays after he'd woken up. The kneecap of his opposite leg was shattered, and even though the ambrosia in his veins was helping it would still take time to heal.

Vash walked past them, kneading his neck and muttering savagely under his breath. "Hey man, how's Lili?" Wales asked quietly.

Switzerland whipped around to face them, probably messing up his neck yet again, but the burning rage in his eyes took even England aback. For a moment he wondered if the nation was mad at him for inviting them to the party that put them in harm's way. Then the words tumbled out of his seething mouth: "I want them **DEAD**, do you understand me?** Dead**! I don't care **who** and I don't give a fuck **_why_****!** I want their heads on a plate that I can _feed to the sharks_!" He settled on England, pointing a finger at him that trembled with the force of his fury. "Find out who did this. Find out where they are. Whatever you need, you can have it. You can bankrupt me for all I care. Just find them, and give me their location. I'll hunt them down like the mongrels they are." The pure fury emanating from the normally pacific nation was a sight to behold and England was reminded of the avenging angels painted on the walls of his churches, Protestant and Catholic alike.

"And Lili?" Wales asked, sounding faint.

Vash seemed to calm down just a tiny bit before growling, "Her hand is broken. _Broken_, Wales. I swore I'd never let anything on this earth harm her, and they **broke her fucking hand!**" He took another breath, and the Kirklands exchanged a quick glance, just a little bit terrified, but glad that it seemed Lili was okay. Except, of course, for her hand. But from Vash's tirade they'd been worried it was much worse. However, it seemed that any injury was enough for the Swiss. Someone had dared to hurt the one he loved, and he had every intention of making them pay.

"I'll find them, Vash," England swore, meeting the nation's mint green eyes that still simmered with vehemence. "I swear to you I'll find them." It seemed that his eternal neutrality wasn't a top priority anymore.

He nodded once, a harsh jerk of his head that must have hurt like hell, and then proceeded to pace the room. England wondered if he did that, hands clasped tightly at his back, so that he wouldn't break something. He also wondered what had happened to the neck brace the country needed, but then, he could guess. Maybe Lili could get him to put it on.

Arthur was debating whether to risk saying something about it to the Swiss when Hungary rushed into the room. "Vash, are you in here?" He looked up, stopping his pacing. She was slightly out of breath, and looked as if she'd run all the way there. "Roderich wants to see you. Will you come?" The apprehension was clear in her face as she asked. She knew their history even better than Lili, and she knew he could say no.

That he had the right to say no.

After a long, tense moment the blond man nodded, another single jerk of his head, and relief spread across Elizabeta's face. She motioned him to follow her, and England just had time to realize she was still wearing the same forest-green gown and jacket and gloves from the ball before she ran out. Why wouldn't she let them dress her wounds? She had to be cut up at the very least.

England tried to think back. He'd wondered at the Gala why she had chosen to wear gloves when it was so warm inside, and he hadn't seen her take them off the entire evening. And she'd worn a dress that reached her ankles, something she despised doing because it inhibited her ability to fight should the need arise. The first time he'd heard that England had wondered if she was paranoid, but once he'd read up on her history he realized just how often she got into scrapes that she needed to take care of on her own. Elizabeta had had a pretty bloody life, in its own way maybe worse than his. So why would someone who wanted to always be ready to defend herself wear something that would hinder her ability to do so?

Arthur was still stewing over this, probably just because it gave him something to think about besides America, when he noticed Francis fighting to stay awake against eyes that tried to close immediately after he opened them again. "For Christ's sake, old chap, get some rest."

Francis forced his eyelids to rise once again. "Not. Until. Seychelles. Is. Found," he growled, but couldn't stop the yawn that broke free after he finished speaking.

"Stubborn bastard," England said, shaking his head, but it wasn't as if he didn't understand. It was all he could do not to run out the door and then all the way back to Norfolk. In fact, he had tried that, once they told him that America was missing. His soldiers had, with the utmost respect, tackled him and dragged him back inside where they had proceeded to explain to him all the reasons why there was nothing he could do that would help the situation and bla bla bla. It hadn't made any more of an impression of Francis, whom they'd had to tackle as well. The doctors had then yelled at Arthur's men for making France's injury even worse.

Canada had been a near repeat, though he had managed to stop himself and be rational . . . just barely. That was his brother _and_ his sister out there, and it took every bit of discipline Arthur had tried so hard to pound into his head to stay put and think it through. Matthew had a limp from the terrible landing on his right leg, but he had already been against the wall when the explosion happened, so he hadn't been thrown through the air like most of the others.

The Canadian clenched and unclenched his hands, desperately wishing he had something to do, _anything_, so that he wouldn't keep imagining Alfred dead, his _little sister_ dead - He shook his head quickly to chase away the thought. If he thought about that he'd stop breathing.

Finland flitted by him, hovered for a moment with his back to the Canadian before returning to his original position at Sweden's right side. It was his organs that the doctors were concerned about, and internal bleeding. Finny had been near hysterics before Sweden came to just long enough to order him to "calm down, dammit, 'm not goin' t' die." Since then Finny had been hovering at his side, anxiously watching the doctors and monitor. Canada saw him take his husband's hand for a moment and whisper "please be okay" before resuming his flitting about like a humming bird.

"Hey," Matthew called. Finny stilled for a moment, looking at him with huge eyes. "He'll be alright. They gave him ambrosia - that stuff cures everything."

The smaller country nodded but went on about his constant motion nonetheless. Perhaps it was his coping method, Matthew speculated before going to sit with France. He was still fighting a losing battle with his need for sleep. "Hey, frère. How's your foot?"

"It'll heal. Damned unneeded morphine. I am _not_ going to sleep until they find ma petite," he grumbled with determination, yawning again before glaring at nothing in particular.

Canada sighed silently, knowing it was pointless to try to talk him into sleeping. He just didn't understand what was taking England's men so long. They had to be near the castle, didn't they? So were the Brit's men all completely incompetent?

Footsteps signaled the approach of England's personal soldiers and all of the nations in the room looked up with relief. "It's about bloody time," Arthur said, leaping to his feet as a captain and two soldiers filed in. He frowned, looking behind them, as France was craning his neck to do the same. "Well? Where are they?"

The solider clearly wanted to be anywhere but here, but he met the nation's eyes squarely. "They're gone, sir. It is our belief that they were taken prisoner while you and your guests were unconscious from the explosion."

Absolute silence fell over the recovery room for a split second before France's whisper cut through the air like a knife, high with fear he'd never felt for himself.

"_They have ma petite?"_

England's face was white. "And Alfred."

* * *

_You know that old saying "you mess with a bull, you get the horns?" Well I think it's safe to say that if you mess with the Europeans' siblings you get killed. I just love Vash, though - all that fury over her hand. Isn't he precious? And Scotty. So temperamental._

_A few things to pay attention to: what England said about the pilot, and the bit about Hungary._

_Reviews are awesome._

**_French Translations_**

_imbecíle - imbecile_

_frère - brother_


	7. Chapter 6: Colors of Insanity

**Braginski Mansion, North of Moscow**

I woke up in a room that could only belong to Spain. The color scheme varied between red, nearly black blue, and white, with touches of gold in the drapes and furniture. But it wasn't his flag hung across the small wooden desk. It was Italy's. Beautiful in its simplicity and heartbreaking in its memories. In a frame on the desk below it was a photograph, perhaps the only one in existence with both Italy brothers. Romano was trying to escape Veneziano's latest round of 'hug therapy', clearly photographed mid-struggle, and the lighter-haired boy's face couldn't be happier. Their curls were tangled up together in a near-perfect heart.

I was beginning to regret waking up.

I took in the rest of the room before the nostalgia could hit me again. There was Antonio, stretched out across the dark couch, shirtless, only his black pantaloons and red sash covering his body. Strands of brown hair fell across his eyes, and even at rest he looked tired. He shifted a bit in his sleep, a frown digging into the corners of his mouth.

I hid a sigh. It's no wonder he can't sleep well, with all these reminders around. I continued looking over the room. A tall wooden dresser stood against one wall, and there were two doors, one open and one closed. I could see the edge of a marble-set bathtub and a white sink, so that was clearly the bathroom. The other door must lead out into the rest of the house, but I felt no interest in trying it, not now. I needed to get my bearings and try to make sense of what was going on. Hopefully Spain could shed some light on the situation.

I frowned when I noticed a packet of cigarettes on the low table in the center of the huge room. Since when did Antonio smoke? The only nations I knew who still smoked were Scotland and Cuba. And this packet was nearly empty! I wondered if it was his first packet or one of many.

I continued taking in the room and was glad to see a large fireplace, as well as a small space heater that I assumed Toni used when the fire wasn't working fast enough. It was a bit chilly, I realized, and if we were in fact in Russia's home then I supposed it would be, wouldn't it? I decided to turn on the heater, but froze when I slid off of the bed. I was definitely _not_ wearing the same dress from the Gala. Looking down at myself I saw that I was wearing a white cotton nightgown that fell just past my knees, with short sleeves and a neck that – Dieu Merci – did not plunge, but it was still more than a little disconcerting to realize someone had seen me bare. I swallowed hard, hoping that it had been one of the two girls I glimpsed pushing the gurney. They hadn't been to a world meeting in years, though I had seen the older one once or twice with Turkey, and she'd seemed alright.

Trying to shake the thought away I walked over the space heater and picked it up, looking for an outlet. Once I found one I plugged it in, kneeling on the carpet to make sure it went in correctly. The thing rattled to life, startling me. I'd assumed you had to switch it on. I winced before looking back at Antonio.

The Spaniard was awake, gaining a little more consciousness with each blink of his startled green eyes. He jerked up when he saw the bed was empty, panic written across his face in neon letters.

"Over here, Toni," I said quietly, not wanting to startle him.

His head turned to where I stood next to the heater, giving him a little wave, and the tension went out of him like air out of a balloon. He sank back into the couch, rubbing his eyes. 'I hope he got some sleep,' I mused, still worried about how haunted he looked. 'Has he been eating anything but cigarette smoke?'

He got up, seeming more awake now. He stretched, and even though he was a bit thinner he didn't look terribly unhealthy. I blushed a bit when I realized he looked _good_, well-defined but not overly muscular like Germany. I quickly looked up at his sleepy eyes instead. He was smiling a little, perhaps from noticing me looking at him, but the dissonance I'd noticed before was still in his motions, his voice. Wrong wrong wrong, little bells of warning tolled in my head.

"Were you cold, _querida_?" he asked, looking over at the heater and then the fire-place. "I could put more wood on the fire."

"Uh, this is fine, thanks, Toni," I said, sitting in the chair closest to the heater. The warmth was slowly bringing feeling back into my legs.

"Are you hungry?"

"Are _you_?" I asked, watching his eyes.

He frowned, thinking about this. "No, I shouldn't be. I had some salsa ye-, oh. Um, I don't really remember when that was, but it couldn't have been very long ago . . ." He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to remember.

I was raised in a French household, and we take food very seriously. Dining with friends, strangers and enemies was undertaken with the same measure of attention and care. Him not being able to remember the last time he ate was sending off all kinds of _pas bon_ feelings inside me. The urge to take care of him was still strong, despite the strange situation. "I'll make you a deal, Toni: I'll eat if you do, okay?"

He hesitated a moment before shrugging, smiling easily. "That would be fine. Um, what do you want to eat, Seya? There's …" He played with a few strands of his dark hair, thinking hard before grimacing, "A lot of food I'm scared to eat, honestly. I brought some of my own, though! There should be taco stuff, and I could make more salsa! Mexico made some for the last time I visited, and I feel that it is one of his best ideas yet! Though why he wants to take a soft taco, wrap it a little tighter and then name it after a _burro_ of all things I will never understand. Perhaps I just do not understand his sense of humor." He laughed anyway.

His happiness alone was heart-warming, if a bit disconcerting. But then, nothing about all of this _wasn't_ disconcerting, so I let it go. "That sounds good, Toni. I'll eat whatever you think is safe," I joked lightly, and he beamed again before striding over to the door. He paused before he got there, turning back around. "What do you want to drink? There's lots of vodka and Prussia brought a keg of beer, since he refused to leave home without it, but last I checked you didn't drink. . ." he trailed off questioningly, and I shook my head. Sure, I'd drink _some_ of whatever wine Francis put in front of me, but that had never clouded my judgment, and I never drank more than three glasses. "Right then. Juice, _probablemente_? Or water, of course." He blushed a little, thinking he'd sounded foolish.

"Water's great, Antonio."

He smiled again, and damn it the Spaniard was _cute_. His green eyes got all happy and soft and his smile made me feel like I'd won some kind of prize at a carnival booth. Neither of those emotions fit with this situation. "_Bueno_, Seychelles, I'll be back soon. Adios, _florecita_!" He left the room, closing the door behind him, and a few seconds later I heard the click of a lock. It made me go still for a moment before I decided that I may be in worse shape without the lock. I doubted that Prussia had a key, and I noticed that Toni hadn't needed to unlock it before leaving. So when he was in the room, he felt no need to lock the door. Good to know.

I took a deep breath, standing up and moving closer to the heater. Heat was a comfort to me, in the way that Kumajiro's fur and Francis's wine were a comfort to my brothers. I sought it out when it was absent, lighting fires or burrowing under blankets when there wasn't any sun to be had, like now. I was accustomed to the sunshine of my islands, not the chill of Russian winter. And any comfort was a good thing at this point.

But nothing could truly distract me from my worries.

_My brothers._ I hugged myself and rocked back and forward a bit on my heels - a nervous tic. Their absence was like a throb in my veins, the time that passed bringing no relief.

I had no idea where they were, and that terrified me, but I couldn't let myself dwell on my fear or I'd go crazy. Worrying about them wouldn't help me right now, and they'd berate me later if I blew any chance of helping Alfred by panicking. I shivered when I remembered what they'd done the last time I lost control. God only knows how long I'd been unconcious from the last dose of ambrosia, and I couldn't afford to lose more time. I couldn't let them put me under again. Once this was over, and America and my brothers and I were safe, _then_ and only then would I find the nearest corner, curl up into a little ball and scream until I lost my voice.

But not until we were safe.

I took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the heater keep me calm, and thought about what I knew. America was in Russia's mansion with me, or at least he was the last time I'd been awake. I doubted very much that they would have been able to move him, if he'd really lost all that blood - I flinched from the thought, worry coiling in my stomach.

And Japan. What on earth had happened to Japan? He hadn't been at the Gala with us. Had he been hurt because of something that happened during the blackouts, or were his wounds more recent? I hadn't gotten a good enough look at his body to see where he was hurt. Maybe it was something inside him that was wrong? That screaming . . . that wasn't like Japan at all. If he had a choice, Kiku would bite his lip and keep the pain to himself. He had to be hurting enough that he had no control over his reactions, and that was a frightening thought. But I had no way of finding anything out unless I could make Antonio _talk_, which he didn't seem in any hurry to do.

I was afraid to deal with what all of this might mean I knew until I had more solid answers. Some of the things Spain had said did not sit well with me at all. I shook my head, trying to put it out of my mind. First things first - eat something before I collapse. I hadn't told Toni how drained I really felt, and I hoped that food would help. I sat down in the chair again now that I felt warmer, and cleared some room on the low table between the chairs. I picked up the cigarettes by the open flap, holding them as far from me as possible and scrunching up my nose as I set them on the dresser instead. A few random pieces of paper, written in a language I did not understand, were shuffled into a neat pile and set on the desk. Only a minute or so after I finished I heard footsteps outside the door, the turn of a key, a pause and then Antonio's reentrance. He had a tray balanced neatly on one hand, and something about him owning a restaurant came back to me.

I felt my mouth water a bit when the scent of the food drifted over.

He smiled, seeing my anticipation, and set the tray down on the table. I took one of the water glasses from it and took a bite of the taco in front of me at his behest. It was better than simply good, and by far superior to the American chain-restaurant tacos and burritos I'd eaten while visiting California with Matthew last summer. Spain looked pleased with my expression, whatever it was, and settled in to eat his food without any more prodding from me. My relief at that helped put my mind at ease a little, and we enjoyed a pretty peaceful meal.

I realized that I had no idea which meal it would be, since I hadn't bothered to look behind the pulled curtains. I saw a clock on one of the walls that read 4:33.

I finished chewing the food in my mouth, which was almost the last of the taco, and asked him whether it was early morning or late afternoon.

He didn't know immediately either, but after thinking about it for a few seconds he said, with a fair amount of certainty, "Morning. But you wouldn't be able to tell that from looking outside. Hell, you can't even _see_ outside from the bottom floor. The snow covers the windows up to the top!"

I didn't like that, and he could tell. "Oh, don't worry, Seychelles - you won't have to go outside. It's best that you just stay in here, and get your strength back up." He smiled reassuringly, oblivious to my real displeasure. Yes, it snowed sometimes in my home, and at France's house, as well as Matthew's. But I had never made a conscious effort to be near it once in my life. Snow = cold, and I do _not like cold_. Which would make any attempt to leave . . . difficult, at the very least.

"Russia does have a huge garden, though," Antonio continued. "It's behind the house, and it's completely surrounded by glass! It must have taken ages to make," he said, sounding impressed.

An arboretum, huh? Not exactly what I would expect from Russia, but then I did remember hearing about his love of sunflowers, so perhaps that wasn't so strange after all. "What kind of plants does he have in it?" I asked, dipping a tortilla chip in the bowl of salsa. Everything was delicious, and I was glad to see Spain eating pretty well too. Perhaps all that he needed was to have food put in front of him and someone to share it with.

"All sorts of flowers and things; plants I wouldn't expect to see here, certainly. And plenty of those sunflowers he likes,_ naturalmente._" He paused, mulling something over. "Perhaps I can take you to see it, no? Once you are feeling better?" His emerald-green eyes flicked up to me hesitantly, afraid I would refuse.

"I'd like that, Spain," I said, smiling. I didn't exactly want to wander around this house without him, at least not right away. Unsettling things I'd heard about the other girl - Belarus, was that her name? - were floating back to me, and I didn't feel like meeting up with her any more than I wanted to see Prussia.

We finished eating, and he cleaned up the dishes, disappearing briefly to get rid of them. When he came back he looked at me as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with me now. I could almost see him ticking off the basic needs in his head. Sleep, check. Food, check. Warmth, check.

Hygiene, I decided for him. "Toni, I'm going to take a bath, ok? Are there towels in there?"

He checked quickly before nodding. "Si, but only one bottle of shampoo, I think - nope, I used that up." He held up the offendingly empty bottle, looking miffed before tossing it into a nearby wastebasket. "I'll see if one of Russia's sisters has any, _bien_?" And then he was out of the room again, before I could say anything. Oh well - shampoo would be good. I gingerly touched the back of my head, wondering if there would be any blood dried into my hair. Unable to be sure I went into the bathroom, shivering immediately when my feet touched the chilly tile floor. I stepped quickly over to the rug in front of the sink and mirror, and was about to check when my reflection stopped me cold.

I looked like I'd been through hell. Not only through it, but given a special tour, all through the ins and outs of every circle of hell. "Mon Dieu," I whispered, shocked. I would never be as appearance-conscious as Poland, and Francis was still a bit worse than me, but I put _work_ into this hair. I almost never used makeup, but I was an absolute _saint_ to this hair, with all of the shampoo and conditioner and using a comb instead of a brush and using ribbons instead of hair ties. And now it looked like Pierre had chosen to turn it into his own private nest.

With a shudder I decided that I would not go anywhere near that mirror again until after a serious washing and with brush and scissors in hand.

There were the bruises on me, too, as well as a few scratches. They were mostly along my left side, where I must have fallen after the explosion, but also sprinkled along my other arm and down my legs. They were fading, though, the way serious bruises don't start to do until a good week after they're received. I chalked it up to the ambrosia doing a kick-ass job, but noticed that they were still tender when I pressed on them.

A hot bath was definitely the order of the day, I thought, looking around the bathroom. It was pretty spacious, like the bedroom was, and the he shower was an expensive-looking setup in the corner of the room with what looked like jets on the sides. Looking hopefully into the tub, I was glad to see them there too, and knew my chances of decent relaxation had just improved tenfold.

I heard the door open again and turned around to see Antonio holding two bottles, one shampoo and one conditioner. He looked a little sheepish. My eyes narrowed.

"Toni. . ." I said slowly, looking at him critically. "You did ask, didn't you?"

He fidgeted.

I knew that fidget. Francis did it when he'd done something he knew I wouldn't quite approve of, and sure enough, the same don't-worry-about-it smile spread across his face, too wide. I brought my palm up to my forehead, sighing, before reaching out to take the bottles. "I suppose I know the answer to that. Just please tell her-" I was sure it was one of the girls', because no boy who stood even a chance of another male seeing his bathroom would use L'Oreal Paris - "That you took it, and you're sorry, right?" I hinted, and he nodded, still looking guilty. I rolled my eyes and added, "I'll be awhile, my hair needs some major loving before it's even going to _speak_ to me again, let alone behave for the straightener. Just, uh, don't come in here, kay?"

Eyes wide, he nodded. "Of course, _preciosa._ Enjoy your bath." He left then, and I closed the door, happy there was a small lock to turn, even if I knew it wouldn't make much difference if someone was determined to get in. But it did make me feel better.

The bath was pure heaven, the hot water and the gentle gush of the jets doing wonders for the knots I hadn't been aware of until just then. I was careful to keep the stream not directly on top of any of the bruises, and began the long process of getting my hair suitable for public appearance once again. Some of it was victim to tangles that I was able to get out for the most part, but I cringed at the thought of the few I would have to cut.

I let the water drain to about half full before sealing the drain once again and turning the water back on, a slow but steady stream of hot to replace the heat that had been lost. I reached for a towel to dry my faced before opening my eyes, looking around for the conditioner. It's counterproductive to let your hair retouch dirty water once washed, and as long as I sat up I could just angle my head under the faucet and still keep it from touching the water.

To my dismay, the conditioner was nowhere in sight. Which was _not good_, because conditioner was definitely a necessity this time. I finally spotted it beside the door, and made a sound of self-disgust when I realized I must have left it there when I picked up the towels to bring them closer to the tub. Knowing that there was nothing else to do, I slowly got out of the tub, careful not to slip. I wrapped the towel around me, carefully wrung out my hair so that I didn't drip too much on the floor, and walked over to where the bottle sat, almost mocking me. "Now, I don't want to hear anything out of you," I was about to say to it when I heard something else. There was a voice coming from the other side of the door, and it was definitely not Spain's. I gingerly pressed my ear against the wood, listening.

"-obvious that he's not all there ana. No matter how much of the ambrosia I give him, he doesn't respond to his name, not even on the rate monitor." I could hear the frustration in Thailand's voice, and I heard him sigh. "The ambrosia stopped the bleeding, but the rest of it will take _time_ ana."

"So he can't tell us _anything_?"

I actually jumped. That didn't sound anything like the sweet, childlike country who'd made me salsa. The low, stone-cold snarl was hardly reconcilable with Spain.

"Don't worry so much, yeah?" _That _voice I didn't really want to hear either. Ever. I could practically feel his smirk through the wood of the door. "The awesome me will make him talk."

"That won't do any good, Gilbert," Thailand said dryly. "Until he regains awareness of who he is, he can't answer your questions ana." I heard an odd sound, like a trumpet. Maybe his little elephant was with him.

"We'll see," the albino scoffed, confident in his own ability.

"And where is your little Seychelles ana?" the Asian country went on quietly; I could barely hear him.

"She's taking a bath," he answered just as softly, but he obviously thought the water covered his voice, which it would have if I were still in the tub. "Something about her hair- she seemed very disturbed." His voice was still cold, but not …. as cold? I didn't care - it still scared me.

"Well, did you see it?" the albino drawled. "We may have gotten the blood out before she woke up, but it was still a mess."

"Through no small fault of yours," Antonio hissed in a pleasant voice. "What did you expect her to look like after an _explosion_ that _you assured me she wouldn't be there for_?"

The air went right out of me.

"She wasn't at the last two!" he said defensively, loudly, and only a sharp 'shh!' from Thailand made him lower his voice again. "Liz said she hates them, and besides, there was no reason for her to be at the Gala! She's not one of the Allies."

"Neither were half of the nations _there_," he answered icily, his voice still held low enough that I wasn't supposed to hear, but it crackled like restrained electricity. I could almost touch his fury as it seeped into the air. "One simple thing, Gilbert. This one thing, and you couldn't even manage that. It was _all I asked you to DO."_

"UGH! Maybe the awesome me made the _tiniest little mistake,_ but it all turned out okay in the end! Even if Kiku did get shot . . ." he trailed off. "But that one was NOT on me! The Brits are terrible shots – it was one in two million that Eyebrows' guys even got him when he jumped out of the plane! But at least we got him out of there. Kesesese I would've liked to see the looks on their faces when they had to tell that tea-loving towhead that they lost him."

A loud sound made me spring into the air, and I barely caught myself from slipping on the slick tiles. It must have been Spain's fist slamming into the table, I thought dizzily over the thudding of my heart. I forced myself to start breathing again, leaning against the door for support.

"I don't _care_ about how _Britain will react_! _You_ nearly got her _killed!_"

"Whatever, blame the awesome one," Prussia huffed. "And how was I supposed to know Canada was her brother too? That kid's practically invisible! There was _no reason_ for her to be there, and I thought France would be smart enough to keep her out of it!"

Antonio made a sound of disgust. "While I may trust France's intelligence over yours, depending on h-"

Toni stopped talking, and a high squealing noise was my only clue that someone had opened the door. "Japan is awake," said the cheerful voice with an unmistakable Russian accent. "He wants to see you, white demon, though I'm not sure if it's for hugs, da?"

"Watch it, Ivan," Prussia growled. "And I got his ass out of there - he has no reason to be mad at me." He sounded like a petulant child.

"Just be kind to him, if you're able," Thailand said in exasperation, and I heard footsteps as they left the room. "Aren't you coming, Antonio ana?"

"I'll see him later, when he's done yelling at Gilbert. Try to make sure he doesn't hurt himself, _por favor_. I don't particularly care if he hurts Gil."

Thailand sounded amused. "I'll wrangle the children ana. Just look out for your little treasure ana. And if she's still in pain, send her to me and I'll see what I can do. Don't worry - I'll keep the prince of idiocy away from her. I already reprimanded him for walking in and scaring her like that ana."

"Good." There wasn't even a trace of forgiveness in Spain's voice. "I let you handle it last time. I won't do the same if it happens again, _me entiendes_?"

"Uh, right." Thailand sounded nervous. "Well, um, see you later ana." The door closed.

I stayed there against the bathroom door, afraid to move and terrified to think.

_ They did this. _I closed my eyes as the gravity of it sank in, pulling me down to the floor like weights. _Prussia . . . Russia and his sisters . . . India and Thailand . . . and Spain. They attacked the Gala._

My eyes opened blearily to see the bathtub, just about to spill over. I took an unsteady step toward it, nearly losing my balance. I forced my feet forward, my hands shakily turning off the tap when I reached it. I sat on the edge of the tub, my head swimming.

Tears gathered in my eyes with a sting. _Why would Antonio do this? Haven't we all lost enough?_

I didn't understand. Everything was wrong, so damned _wrong_. My hands trembled where they fisted in my damp hair, and I felt vulnerability creep over me. I wanted France to hold me and tell me stories about God using him as the butt of His practical jokes. I wanted to huddle under a blanket with Matthew and his bear and watch kids' movies.

_Don't panic don't panic don't panic you just __**can't panic**__, okay?_ _You have to help Alfred and yourself and you can't do that if you panic so __**calm down.**_

I focused on breathing, a steady inhale and exhale of air. I had to get a grip before Spain realized that I'd heard him-

A shudder tore through me so strongly that my body actually jerked forward. _GOD._ How the fuck was I supposed to deal with Toni?! My brothers could be _dead_ because of him-!

I bit my knuckles to keep the scream inside me from coming out. _You can scream when this is all over, okay?_

I had no idea what to do. I couldn't _think_. All I could think about was Matty's last birthday, when Kumajiro knocked the cake into Matty's lap by accident and he just sat there with his mouth hanging open and Francis was laughing so hard that he had to hang onto the back of a chair to stay standing. I couldn't imagine never hearing that laugh again. I couldn't imagine never _seeing_ them again.

They couldn't be dead. They just . . . couldn't be. I had to stop thinking about that right now and wait until I knew for sure or my heart was going to crack, right down the middle. Besides, my brothers were both very strong nations, and I knew for a fact that Francis had survived much worse. He would actually be offended if I wrote him off as a goner. I could picture him, in all his righteous indignation, sputtering that I obviously must not think much of him. I almost smiled, thinking of how pouty he would get, arms crossed, breathing out in a huff. I could imagine Matthew trying not to laugh at him for it.

No. They couldn't be dead. They were too alive, too much a part of every single piece of me. But they were at least hurt, and probably worried sick about me. I imagined Arthur was pretty worried about Alfred, too.

They'd come looking for us, if they had any idea where to find us. But that would be dangerous, especially if it meant invading Russia's homeland. Even getting into the country would be difficult.

But if I could help . . . If I could get out of here, with Alfred, and get us at least into one of the neighboring territories, or even somewhere I could use a phone . . .

Then I remembered the snow and shuddered, curling into the fetal position.

I was trying to think of any other ways out of this mess when a friendly knocking sounded against the door. "Are you alright, _florecita?"_ Spain called worriedly. He sounded like his usual, innocent self again. "You have not drowned, have you?"

_Dieu aide moi._

* * *

_Please tell me what you think~_

**_French Translations_**

_Dieu aide moi - God help me_

_Dieu Merci - Thank God_

_Pas bon - not good_

**_Spanish Translations_**

_probablemente - probably_

_bien - good_


	8. Chapter 7: The Darkness

**Braginski Mansion, North of Moscow**

It took more than a few tries to make the words leave my mouth but I think I eventually managed to communicate that I was "fine."

Even through the door, Toni could tell I was definitely not fine. "What is the matter, florecita? Are you in pain?" The level of worry in his voice spiked and I was afraid he might try to come inside. "Seychelles?!"

'Shit, shit, shit. Damn you, brain, work, this really is kind of urgent.' My hands slid into my wet hair, tangling in the strands. 'Come on, come on –'

Light bulb.

"O-oh, it's my hair, Toni," I said, letting misery rather than panic color my voice. I wasn't sure if I was successful, though. I could still barely hear over the thudding of my heart. "The knots were much worse than I thought, and I'll have to cut some of it off."

Dieu, could I sound any more stereotypically female? I sent out a general apology to my entire gender, with Hungary foremost in my mind.

"Oh." Spain seemed unsure how to respond for a moment, but he sounded relieved that it was nothing too serious. "I'm very sorry about your hair, cariño," he said, sounding sincerely sympathetic. "Is there anything I can do? I could try to cut it for you, if you like," he offered.

"Th-that's okay, Toni. I've been cutting it myself for a while now, I think I can manage. It's just, um, a little depressing, you know?" I added in a sniff for good measure. 'You're a terrible actress, he's going to see through this, why can't you lie better, France is freaking awesome at lying, how could you not have picked up anything after all this time—'

"If you are sure, Sesel . . . How about I make you some churros con chocolate, hmm? That might cheer you up!"

I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep down any food right now, let alone something sweet, but if it would get him out the room for a while then I'd take whatever I could get. "That's really nice of you, Toni. Sure." I still couldn't believe he was actually buying this.

"No problemo. There should be some clean clothes in the aparador, if you'd like to change, but remember, you should be sleeping again soon, because you are not yet well! I'll see you soon, querida."

Aparador? Oh, the dresser. My knowledge of the Spanish language was pretty spotty, mostly just things I had picked up when France had his friends over.

I shook my head quickly to stop myself from thinking about my brothers again. I needed to – well, to get a grip, for one, and then to figure out what on earth I was going to do.

Slipping back into the now cooling water, I mechanically ran the conditioner through my hair, not really paying much attention to what I was doing. I was making a concerted effort not to think right now, and when I finished with the conditioner I let the tub drain and stepped out onto the chilly floor again. I wrapped myself in one of the fluffy white towels and went over to lean on the sink, staring at my reflection in the foggy mirror.

My hair was officially the least of my worries, but as it was the only thing I could do anything about right now, I decided that I would try to cut the knots once they were dry.

I needed to get a look at this place, but there were only two ways of doing that—have Antonio escort me around and try not to act like I knew anything, or slip out when he's not looking and fare for myself among the people who bombed England's Gala and definitely care less about my well-being than Toni. Including Prussia.

Especially Prussia.

And as much as I hated to admit it, Spain was right. I wasn't well yet, and I could feel the tiredness that comes with overexerting oneself beginning to settle over me. I was in no way ready to go running around this house, or outside of it for that matter. Besides, I couldn't go anywhere without America, if I could escape at all. The snow … well. Like I said, it would be a pretty big "if".

I'd have to keep acting as if I didn't know for as long as possible. Toni seemed willing enough to ready my act, but I hadn't had to be face to face with him again yet. How could he seem so childlike and harmless one minute and become absolutely fucking terrifying in the next? Was he bipolar? Was this because of the twins?

I just didn't know, and I doubted any of the others in this house would tell me if I asked.

I hardly knew anything about Belarus, except that many nations were afraid of her and that she had a pretty serious crush on her older brother. Ukraine seemed nice enough, but then, she was here, so I didn't know what to make of her. She was an old friend of Canada's, though, and he'd mentioned her a few times in passing. And Kiku… even if we weren't quite friends, Japan and I had always gotten along well. I was glad to hear he was awake, but if he was indeed responsible for the plane that dropped that bomb on Sandringham House…

I put my head in my hands, rubbing my temples. I don't understand war. I never have. Friends become enemies and everyone gets hurt. There are no good outcomes.

Finally I decided that I had better get dressed before Antonio comes back. I gingerly opened the bathroom door, taking a quick look around. The room was indeed deserted and I opened the dresser, unsure what I would find inside.

I was surprised, to say the least. There was another nightgown, four pairs of blue jeans, some assorted T-shirts and long-sleeved shirts, and a couple dresses. One was more of a gown and very icy blue, while the other was more like the ones I normally wore at home, dark blue and mid-length.

I opened a drawer and sound socks, of various colors, and, to my extreme embarrassment, a few bras and several pairs of underwear.

One of the bras was clearly the one I'd had on at the Gala and I snatched it up in relief. After slipping it and a pair of the underwear on, I frowned at the jeans and decided to try my luck. They looked warm enough, which was good, but jeans vary so much in size and I'm admittedly rather picky—

They fit. Not perfectly or anything, but damned close. Examining the others I saw that they all looked as though they'd fit as well.

I was seriously beginning to suspect that someone had taken my measurements, or was just a really freaking brilliant guesser. Once again I sent up a prayer that it was one of Russia's sisters. The bras at least were excusable - whoever bought them could have just taken the size information off of the one I was wearing, but it was still all officially creepy.

Realizing I was still shirtless, I quickly slipped into one of the long-sleeve shirts, a dark blue cotton one with a dolphin leaping out of the water on it. I actually liked the shirt, especially since it did not fit too tightly. I wrapped my still-damp hair up in a towel and continued exploring the clothes options. There had to be a coat of some sort in here. Eventually I found one, though it was just a hoodie, and it looked as if it would be pretty big on me. It wasn't terribly cold in the room right now, so I decided to leave it there for now.

It felt good to be in actual clothes again. You never realize how vulnerable you feel when you don't have your most basic armor.

I wondered again who had picked everything out, and also why they had gone through all the trouble. I had enough here to last me more than just a few days.

Perhaps someone was planning on me being here for a while.

With a nervous swallow at the thought I closed the dresser and went to sit in one of the chairs by the fire. The flames were actually rather pretty, especially when flashes of blue ran along the edges. I had never minded fire, when it was controlled, but growing up with France we never lit a fire unless it was unavoidable.

Francis hates fire, and if he does happen to see it he tends to get trapped by it, victim to the awful memories it triggers. Matty and I do our best to make sure he doesn't remain caught for too long, and we try to distract him afterwards, but it takes him a while to act like himself again. I know there's only so much we can do, because we can't change the past, no matter how much we'd all like to.

I hope one day he'll be able to move on. I know he'll never forget her, but remembering makes him so sad. He looks like he's being cut into with a knife.

I don't think she'd want that.

I'm jolted out of my thoughts by the sound of a key turning in the door, and I had about a second to compose myself before the door opened and Toni sailed in, balancing a tray on one arm. "Look, Seychelles, the churros turned out very well! I hope you like them!"

The Spaniard cheerfully set the food down on the table before smiling at me. "Ah, bueno! The clothes fit."

I fought the urge to fidget, playing with the sleeve of one arm. "Um, Toni, this may sound weird, but - who bought these clothes, exactly?"

He blinked. "Oh, that was Yekaterina. You know, Russia's older sister? She and Belarus ran out to the store to pick them up for you while you were, er, asleep."

I noticed his fumble at the end but decided to leave it be. It was a relief to know that it had been Ukraine, since she had to have been the one to take my measurements. There's just something comforting in knowing your own gender handled things, you know?

"You should try the churros, Seya, I hope they taste alright. They had a different kind of oil than I normally use, but I tried one and it seemed pretty good." He waited, nervously chewing on his lip, his eyes hopeful. Dear God, he's like a puppy. The inherent innocence in his demeanor was still seriously messing with my head.

I picked up one of the churros from the plate, bits of cinnamon sticking to my fingertips, and was about to take a bite when Toni shook his head, laughing. He had a very pleasant laugh. "No, no, chica, con chocolate! See - you dip it in that little bowl there, and then you eat it."

I did as he said, now that I knew what the bowl was for. Warm chocolate, not quite as thick as pudding, started to drip from the end of the churro and I quickly took a bite. I know I made a sound of surprise because Spain started grinning, especially when I dripped it in again and took another bite before I'd even finished the first one. "Mon dieu, that's really good, Toni!" I said once I'd swallowed, and his face lit up.

"Maravilloso!" he cheered. "Now I can use the oil to make different things, which is good, since many things require oil, and I do not want to eat anything else stuffed with dill." Spain wrinkled his nose.

"Dill?" I said in surprise.

"Oh, sí," Toni said, nodding gravely. "It seems that Russia is very fond of it, so Ukraine tends to put it in everything. Dill is nice on a quesadilla, but not in such amounts as that, no? So now I can do more of the cooking, so that we will not be poisoned with dill." He sounded very happy about this, and proceeded to hum as he walked around the room to gather some papers off of the table. He squinted at them briefly before laughing again. "Even after all of these years with Gil, German still looks strange to me! No Latin roots anywhere! It is no wonder he refuses to learn Spanish!" He rolled up the papers and stuck them in his pocket before looking at me again. "You should try to get some more rest, cielita linda. I will be back after I talk to Gilbert, but it will be a while. He is such a stickler for specifics now; it is very unlike him."

"Specifics on what?" I asked, watching him carefully.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing you need to worry about. I hope you have a nice rest, Seychelles," he said with an affectionate smile before moving to leave the room again.

"Wait, Toni," I called, noticing something.

"Sí?" he asked, turning.

"Don't you want to, um, put on a shirt? You can't be very warm like that."

He looked down at himself and realized that he was in fact still shirtless, as he had been since he'd woken up. "Haha, I suppose you are right! I did not even notice." He grabbed a white shirt out of the other dresser and slid it over his head. "Much better. Hasta luego, Seya!" he called, closing the door behind him and turning to lock.

I let out a long exhale, reeling a bit from the stress of the situation. He still seems oblivious, which is good for me, but now I can't figure anything out. I'm just stuck in here until he comes back.

I laid down on the bed, trying to think of what I should do. Should I try to talk to the other nations? I knew for a fact that I would probably get nothing out of Belarus, and I didn't really want to talk to India. Perhaps Thailand, then, or Ukraine, if I saw them.

I wondered just how things worked here. Was there an obvious leader, or did they all stand on equal footing? Whose idea had this whole thing been? And most of all, what on earth did they want out of this?

Thirty minutes later I had still figured out nothing and my eyes were beginning to drift shut. This bed really was incredibly comfortable. Perhaps a bit of rest would be alright after all.

* * *

A few hours later the door opened once more and the Spaniard slipped in quietly, shaking his head over Prussia's antics. The albino had been very worked up over something, and had ended up in a shouting match with India that stopped just short of an actual brawl. Spain wasn't sure what it had all been about, since he hadn't been paying much attention, but he had taken notice when Prussia threw a binder at the princely nation's head. Thailand had stepped in at that point, calming them down before anything else happened, which was when Antonio had lost interest again and returned to picking loose threads from his clothing.

Very little was required from Antonio at these meetings - just his presence, really. That was their arrangement. He'd leave them to their plans and their squabbling, and they'd leave him to his thoughts and the darkness.

The darkness had swallowed him for a time. It had come well-armed, attacking him with centuries of memories and the terrible truth of reality, and there hadn't really been any option besides surrender.

There had been no reason to fight.

The last several months were an almost complete blur, save for a few odd snapshots: his fist slamming into glass, his axe biting into the walls, his blood dripping to the floor, him clutching one of Romano's shirts and just _screaming_ until he was hoarse.

He may well have stayed like that indefinitely, had Russia not shown up with a proposition. Everyone else who had come to his house had been turned away or never even acknowledged, but what Russia promised managed to catch his attention.

Whatever he wanted, in return for his help.

There were only two things he wanted, if he was forfeiting death: vengeance, and her.

Ivan had given his word and led Antonio away, to this cold house. One of his terms had been met. Now he simply had to take care of the second. He would do whatever Ivan required of him, and then he would take her home. He would protect her as he had failed to protect Roma.

The dark thoughts went away when he spotted Seychelles, curled up on the large bed like a little kitten. She looked so very small compared to the space around her. Spain was glad that the sight of her sleeping no longer filled him with fear.

He had been so scared, felt so sick, those days when he sat by her bed in the hospital wing. Even if Gilbert was a _fucking idiot_, her death would still be his own fault, and the the thought of losing her at all was incomprehensible. She was the only one left in the world that he loved, and there would have been no recovering for him if she was in fact gone forever, like the twins.

But she was not gone. She was here, and she was breathing. Her wounds were healing, though he wondered if he should take her to see Thailand at some point to have them checked once more. After all, his little flower was very delicate, and he would have to be very careful with her.

He folded the blankets over her, as she had fallen asleep sideways on the top cover. He tucked them in carefully around her so that she would not roll off and hurt herself, and then smiled at the sight. She looked like a taco, wrapped up that way.

Remembering that she had been cold earlier he walked to the fireplace and added a few logs, setting each piece down gently so that he did not wake her. Brushing the soot from his hands the Spaniard walked over to the desk, touching the frame of the photograph. No one else would realize it, but Lovino had been smiling. Not intentionally, almost inperceptively, but he had been smiling. Antonio's fingertips slipped off of the frame to form a fist, his nails drawing blood as they bit into his palm.

The pain of loss was worse than any feeling he had ever experienced. Stronger, too. It was always there, threatening to pull him under and choke the last bits of sanity away. But he had decided. He would not let himself be made useless and weak. He could not afford to drown any longer.

After all, he had florecita now. And florecita was his everything.

* * *

_I apologize for how long this took. I've been spending a lot of time piecing together all the ideas I have for the coming chapters, and I should be able to update much more quickly from now on. The next chapter should be the Allies, followed by more Axis, in which you will see more of the nations staying in Ivan's mansion, including our host himself._

_Thank you very much for reading. Special thanks to my wonderful and supportive beta, Mio-san._

_Review? Pretty please?_

_**Spanish Translations**_

_Maravilloso - Marvelous_

_sí __- yes_

_cielita linda - little love, sweetheart, heaven on earth_

_hasta luego - see you later_

_florecita - little flower_

_bueno - good_

**_French Translations_**

_Dieu - God_

_mon dieu - My God_


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